


War Games

by CiceroProFacto



Category: South Park, South Park: The Stick of Truth - Fandom
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, M/M, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-03-30 13:50:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3939172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CiceroProFacto/pseuds/CiceroProFacto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years after Kyle's rule as 'The High Jew Elf' in their backyard LARPing world, he's mysteriously transported to a very real Zaron where the war's not just a game.  Faced with a battle for the fate of the world, he must assume the duties of the Elven King- who's keeping a secret affair...with the Ranger...Stan Marshwalker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. CPR is for Homos

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will contain spoilers for the game if you haven't played it yet. 
> 
> *This is based on an RP between black-puffball-hat and yumkippur on Tumblr. They also have some beautiful fanart. The cover image for this fic is done by broski. Go check them out.  
> black-puffball-hat.tumblr.com  
> yumkippur.tumblr.com  
> Please leave Comments and Kudos if you enjoy this. This story is a monster to write.
> 
> Protip for reading: an ellipse marks a time shift in the same universe. Divider lines mark a flashback- in italic. The delta symbol marks a switch to the other universe.

..

δ

“Fuck!  Fuck fuckity fuckfuckfuck!” Kyle huffed, hugging his arms around his chest and shivering as he came up from the freezing water. 

Cartman cackled at him and continued his work, dunking Kenny. It was tradition for the boys to hang out at Stark’s Pond the first night of Spring Break. Stan had begun it in middle school when they started taking different classes. It had just sort of stuck through the years- even though they’d all gone their separate ways.  Now that they were in college or working, it was a reunion of sorts.

“Hey, guys,” Kyle shouted over the splashing, “Bet I can still hold my breath longest?”

“Nuh- uh, Jew,” said Cartman, “My money’s on Kenny- I heard he’s never gotta come up for air,” he said grinning lewdly.

Kenny flipped Cartman off, but accepted the challenge anyway and he and Kyle took a few shallow breaths then a deep gulp and disappeared under the water.  Once all the bubbles had risen and popped, Kyle was submerged in cold, dark silence and pressure. Lungs filled like balloons, he had to work a little to stay under, and it was a waste of oxygen to move around, so he dove down to find something to anchor himself.  The pond was deep enough that he sank a few feet before his hands reached the bottom, releasing more bubbles.  It was colder down there, but as Kyle searched for a log or branch to hold onto, he found a strange warm patch and he swam towards it.

His lungs were screaming for air as he reached it, but he could ignore that, instead focusing on the pull of a strong tide out of nowhere and the sound of splashing- perhaps Kenny going up for air, but he wouldn’t chance it.  Pinching his eyes open he could see Stan swimming away, hauling Kenny in tow, and Cartman’s fat silhouette scrambling out of the water. Confused, Kyle reached down and grabbed a branch in the warm patch to steady himself. 

It came loose in his hand and suddenly something bright flashed through the water, shocking him like a power outlet, shaking energy in his bones. He let out a mouthful of air and his feet had lost the bottom of the pond. 

Air- needed air.

Choking, he kicked and thrashed, trying to find which way was up, but the bubbles he’d released were just swirling around him and the pressure of the water felt like he’d dived a hundred feet rather than ten. He clutched to the stick as if it would help, but it still felt like hours he was stuck in the dark, pressed in on all sides to the size of a pinpoint, losing control of his limbs without air, but after a moment, the bubbles rose and he was lifting, feet-first in the direction he could’ve sworn was down. 

He flipped and pulled toward it fast, bursting up for just a second into blinding daylight and a canopy of green before his muscles gave out in shock and he was sinking again, drowning, blacking out. 

 

δ

 

And suddenly the sunlight was back.  Green sunlight.  Blue eyes.  The kind of clear blue that Hallmark card photographers would cream themselves over.

...Stan?  Stan...was very close to his face, Kyle registered.

Then wracked into coughs, shoving Stan back to heave water up from his throat, vision blinking in and out as he gasped for air.  And it was salvation- holy fuck, Kyle would never take oxygen for granted again.  The pressure on his chest eased off after a long moment and Kyle could feel himself moving- well...being moved, muscles too weak with shock to actually do anything about it.  Noises were muffled by the water in his ears, but he could make out Stan's voice in the haze, speaking as he lifted him up onto something softer than stones and mud.  

Since when could Stan lift him?

"...M' Lord..." he was saying, shaking Kyle's shoulders until the water leaked from his ears.  "Please wake up..." and he patted Kyle's cheek gently, and sat him up, making it impossible for him to slip into unconsciousness.  

But, the air was delicious anyway, filling out Kyle's chest then his head, bringing his vision back in speckling colors.  And he squinted with knit brows.  What the fuck was up with the...cape and armor?  And  _M'lord_?  And how long was he out?  It was daylight now- it had been night at Stark's pond...and the tail end of winter...and there hadn't been these tall trees.  "What're y'wearing..." he slurred.  

"...I should ask you the same," Stan said, voice sounding gritty like he'd just smoked a pack of cigarettes.  And, abruptly, his hand was on Kyle's thigh, sliding up his hip over the boxers he'd gone swimming in.  "I've never seen _these_ undergarments before," he mused, smiling.

Kyle slapped the hand away.  Why would Stan be leaning over him looking all concerned and...touching him?  Last Kyle could remember, Stan hated his guts...  

But Stan just laughed at Kyle's reaction, a little awkward and giddy.  "Never mind, my Lord. Did you get to the Stick?" he said, and he studied Kyle's face for a short moment before deciding he had his answer.  He then leaned over Kyle and began wrapping his half-naked body up in some red robes, guiding his arms into sleeves.  And, Kyle's limbs stayed limp and pliant as he watched incredulously, too weak and confused to fight him off- or ask what the hell was happening.  "Nevermind, I saw the flash and look at you, you obviously got to it." He smiled with something like pride, "Let's get you dressed and we can head back..." Stan was talking mostly to himself, but he drifted off as he pulled the robes up over Kyle's chest.  He dragged his fingertips up Kyle's neck to trace the round curve of his ears.  A strange look came over his face; a sad smile.

And was that a...scar...across Stan's face?

"Wh's happening?" Kyle said finally, pushing himself back up onto his elbows more slowly, arms now sleeved in soft red fabric.  "Stan?" 

"You're okay m'Lord," Stan said, nodding at him with this freaky intense look as he finished fastening the front of the robes.  "You did it," and he cupped Kyle's jaw tenderly, and all Kyle could think was  _thefuckthefuckthefuck_ on an endless stream.  "You used the stick..."  Then, before Kyle could stop him, Stan kissed his head and protectively pulled his face into his chest in a way that conveyed that Stan had been so fucking scared.  And, Kyle was starting to see straight and get his bearings, and he noticed...Stan was soaking wet.  

He had jumped in and pulled him out of the water.  

That was pretty cool of him- Kyle figured he should probably thank him for that.  But seriously, what the fuck?  What was up with head-kissing?  Where was the town?  The church and the elementary school and Skeeter's Bar?   _M'Lord?_   How had it become daylight all of a sudden?  And why was Stan talking about a goddamn stick?!  None of this made sense...

Well...actually...

"I'm imagining this..." Kyle concluded, dragging in a shaky breath, staring over Stan's shoulder where his face was pressed into it.  The forest was too surreal, too magical, and Stan- too affectionate.  "That's why everyone was running, there was a flash storm and I got struck by lightening and now I'm in a coma," he said quickly,  "...Underwater...ah, _fuck_."

Stan pulled back, holding Kyle at arm's length to study him- and really, since when was he so tan and square-jawed and scruffy?  Since when did he have that big ugly scar?  "...My Lord-" 

"Stop calling me that!" Kyle snapped, slapping Stan's arm off again.  What kinda fucked-up hallucination was this?  "Why do you keep calling me that?"

Stan raised both brows.  "It is your birthright." 

They hadn't played Dungeons and Dragons in years, much less LARPed their games with costumes...particularly well-crafted- real battered metal and embroidered silk-costumes...  This had to be in his imagination.  Or a joke.  Kyle held back the urge to punch Stan in the leg where he was kneeling beside him.  "This isn't funny, Stan.  Where the fuck are we?"

Stan's brows drew together, but he didn't try to touch Kyle again- thank fuck, "Stark's Pond..." he said slowly.  "We came to use the Stick," he explained.  "We needed it back so you could erase magic from our world..."  And there he was, touching Kyle's ears again.  

Kyle slapped the hand away a third time.  "Stop!" he snapped.  "Like fuck this is Stark's Pond!  Where are we?  Where're Cartman and Kenny?"

The bewilderment on Stan's face deepened and he backed up on his knees.  "...This  _is_ Stark's Pond, m'Lord..." he implored, "...why would they be here?  He betrayed us and...she's been dead for years."  Stan got that strange expression again and said, "Whatever happened with the Stick in that water...please just tell me you remember..."

"Remember wh-?"

"The war...unleashing the ghosts in the mountain, the humans summoning the necromancer, your kingdom  _burning_..."

Kyle just stared long and hard, jaw set.  Stan was serious.  He was using every tool in his acting arsenal to be a complete dick.  It wasn't funny.  "Fuck you."

Stan jolted in shock.  "M'Lord-"

And then Kyle did punch him.

"Hey!"

"Fuck you!" Kyle repeated, stumbling up to his feet, still a little dizzy but recovering fast.  "I could've died!  I thought I was fucking drowning, Stan!  This isn't funny!"

Stan followed him up to stand.  "I do not mean to  _jest_ , m'Lord!" 

Kyle punched him again, fist making a solid impact and Stan cursed in surprise.  When Kyle went to throw another, he grabbed Kyle's wrists tightly and twisted them behind his back, arms wrapped around Kyle's middle now to hold them, faces brought  _way_ too close for comfort. "M'Lord, _please..."_ he pleaded.  And, normally, Kyle would've been able to tug free easily, but Stan's grip was too tight.  And, how had he gotten so strong in the six months they'd been away at college?  When had his hands gotten so rough?  And his arms so big?

Kyle went to knee Stan in the groin, but he quickly side-stepped, anticipating the kick and turning Kyle around, bending him forward and jabbing the backs of his knees so he fell back to the ground.  He went down easy with a gasp for breath, head spinning.  

How had Stan done that?  So quick...

Stan kept holding him, grip gentle but firm, "Please, _Kyle,_ slow down," he whispered, pleading.  His tone was way too gentle and...caring.  It made Kyle uncomfortable.  "What happened with the Stick?  Tell me?"

_No way this was Stan._

"Let me go," Kyle grit out, tugging his hands.

But _not-_ Stan didn't.  He just knelt behind him.  " _Kyle_ ," he muttered, breath brushing against the shell of Kyle's ear.

Kyle thrashed. 

"Tell me what's happened, love..."

Kyle froze.  

For a long moment, they sat there in silence on their knees in the tall forest grass, surrounded by the sounds of the trees rustling and bugs chirping, _not-_ Stan pressing some crazy fucking engraved armor to Kyle's back- wearing chainmail and a ridiculous green cloak and Kyle put in some embroidered red robe.  Kyle's heart was pumping erratically, adrenaline spiking in his confusion.  They waited for his mind to reboot and give him something intelligent to say, but it wasn't every day he got called 'love' by some doppleganger of his ex-best friend.  His ex-best friend who hated his guts.

Kyle gave up.  "Let me go," he repeated.

 _Not_ -Stan still didn't.  "Please, my Lord," he said again, back to formalities.  "Forgive me for using force, but...you are so changed."  His voice was tight now, openly frightened.  "When I saw you rise from the waves gasping for air, I knew something was wrong," the doppleganger said, "Now, you cannot seem to trust me and you respond with confusion and anger when I speak of your kingdom..."  He turned Kyle around, locking both his wrists behind his back. "And your ears...if you have turnt mortal, do I not deserve to know?" he said, genuinely asking, unsure of himself.   His blue eyes were hurt, heartbroken and scared.

It was a strange look on him and Kyle felt his anger receding against his better judgment. He resisted the urge to pull back so their faces wouldn't be so close.   _N_ _ot-_ Stan didn't seem to notice how he kept breaking the personal-space bubble.  If anything, it just proved this wasn't reality.  Stan wouldn't be getting so close to him.  Not even for some fucked up joke.  "If this is a prank, I swear to God..." Kyle muttered.

"It's no prank."

And, Kyle believed him.  Fuck.  He believed him because this was _Stan._   At least in some form.  And, maybe Stan had become a bit of a dick- no an absolute _bag_ _of dicks_ \- last year, but it was more likely that this was all in Kyle's head than that Stan was lying.  Stan was still an honest bag of dicks- even in Kyle's imagination.

"Then, I have no idea what's going on," Kyle admitted.  "I was in the water, there was a flash of light, now I'm here and I've got no fucking clue what's happening."  It was probably something stupid.

"Perhaps if I show you, you will remember?"  

Yes- that would help.  A tour.

Kyle nodded and _not-_ Stan loosened his grip on his hands trustingly, pulling him back up to his feet.  He then kneeled and took Kyle's feet in hand to put a pair of boots on him, and Kyle allowed it, still pissed, but it would be smarter to roll with it until he could figure out what the hell was going on.  If Stan wanted to play manservant in some fucked up coma dream, fine.  Dream-Stan tied up his boots for him and led him to a tall horse that was tied to a tree a little ways into the forest.  

And, Kyle had limited experience with riding horses...never this fast, and never in his goddamn underwear.  He'd figured that once he'd realized he was in a dream, he'd be able to control what was happening, but this was...not fun.  Between the pain in the crotch of riding a horse in his boxers and hugging his chest up against Stan Marsh's armored back, he was pretty sure he'd lost control of this fantasy.

As they rode, dream-Stan babbled about the mountain of 'howlers' that had stormed free and raided the seven human kingdoms, about how the elves had attempted to control them and lock them back in the mountain, but there just wasn't enough magic left at their disposal and they'd failed.   He talked about the humans' desperate alliance with a Necromancer, having him reign in the howling ghosts to save the kingdoms of man, and how the Necromancer's risen dead had, in turn, destroyed the kingdom of the elves.  Dream-Stan spoke of how he and Kyle had ridden out to retrieve the Stick to erase all magic from the realm- good and evil- a final measure to end the necromancer's spell...it was a sacrifice that had to be made to destroy all the undead beasts in one fell swoop.  Dream-Stan explained this to Kyle like he should've known- like he had forgotten.

"Whoa!" _not-_ Stan said abruptly, pulling on the reigns and Kyle quickly realized why.  

In the distance, deeper in the forest, a full-blown battle was going down.  Heavily-armored warriors, long blond hair flowing behind them as they flipped through the trees and shot arrows, were fighting two giant  _giant_ wolves.  But...the wolves were missing huge chunks of flesh, rotting away as they attacked.  The pointy-eared warriors seemed to have the situation under control, shooting their arrows with ropes attached, tangling up the beasts into submission.

But, "No..." dream-Stan said breathlessly.  "...I thought..."

Kyle watched the ordeal in growing horror as full understanding washed over him.  He'd sort of known- somewhere in the periphery of his memory, but it was too obvious now to deny.  The golden designs on his red robes, the archers...  The marking's on dream-Stan's helmet...they were a little different from what Kyle remembered, but similar enough to recognize.   "...Marshwalker?" he tried, voice quiet and hands clenching over Stan's chest.

The Stick of Truth game?  Seriously?!  This was what he hallucinated of in his death-coma?

But, the Ranger was shaking his head, too caught up in his own epiphanies to notice Kyle's growing panic. "No...no, I thought you'd..." Marshwalker turned at the waist to glance at Kyle.  "You said you were taking all magic from Zaron, not just your own!  Why are we still fighting undead Dire wolves?"

"I didn't take away my _magic_ , I never had any," Kyle said, voice cracking in frustration, "I didn't touch the Stick of Truth!"

The Ranger seemed to believe him, but it just deepened his confusion, blue eyes darting between rounded ears- human ears.  "If you didn't touch it, how are you-"  _human?_

Kyle shook his head, eyes locking on Stan's.  "Because I'm not your King!"


	2. You Can't Always Get What You Want

The King anticipated needing time.  Stark's Pond was deep and the Stick would not come released easily.  Without the Grand Wizard's assistance, he could not reclaim it from the depths himself, so if he couldn't remove the Stick from the lake, the Elven King planned to perform the spell _in_  the lake.  

It was only one change needing made.

To dispel magic from the realm.  Forever.  For all.

He brought his Ranger in a tactical move.  Not many things could kill an immortal elf- no illness or age could prove fatal and wounds were easily healed.  But, the King did not intend to remain immortal.  If he was successful, he- 

He would be needing breath.

So, it came as no surprise when he returned to consciousness with a warm familiar mouth pressed to his, forcing air into his chest.  He shoved the Ranger back, sat up, and coughed, wracking until his lungs no longer rattled with swamp water.  Once his breath was even, he clapped a hand to the Ranger's jaw, pulling his head in to tap their foreheads together affectionately, "Thank you," he said simply and sat back, giving him space.  It took a moment to adjust to the low lighting of nightfall and he shivered with cold...how long had he been under that the sky had darkened?  

And then came the surprise.  

The Grand Wizard- practically naked, hovering behind Stanley's shoulder with an oddly familiar blond boy beside him.  He was trembling on a cracking grin- laughing.  Laughing at a King!

The Elf swung gracefully to his feet, in his breeches and all, soaking wet, but wielding the Stick.  Kyle thrusted the Stick of Truth in his fist at the Wizard, resigned to banish him from space and time for his crimes against the elven race- against all magic creatures of the earth...

And yet...nothing.

So, he did it again, shouting with effort to channel his energy through the relic- and still nothing.  He looked down at the Stick, back up at the men standing around him...no...this was wrong...

Wait...

How had he pulled The Stick free of the lake?  Where were the gems?  The gold of the scepter?  This was a twig!

"...What are you doing?" Stan broke the silence.

And the Wizard allowed a beat before he broke into loud laughter, his stomach jiggling as he doubled-over.  "Ahahaa, oh man guys, Kahl's lost it!"  

The King's lips curled in disgust and he turned to his Ranger, intending to take the sword from his waist- the sword that was always at Stanley's waist.  He could use it to carve up the Wizard here and now and- his hand just met flimsy fabric-

"Dude!"

And a slap on the wrist.

He backed up, incredulous.  His Ranger had just hit him!  Before the Grand Wizard!  How dare he?  It was not the Ranger's place to touch the King in front of others- especially not with impunity.

 "Explain yourself," the King demanded- because this was Stan.  There must be a reason for the strange behavior.  "Where is your sword, Stanley?!"  _and your armor, and the horse...and the forest._   He grabbed the Ranger's...strange short breeches and pulled him in close to speak quietly against his ear.  "He is unarmed- now is our best...chance..."  His voice drifted off.  From this distance, the Ranger's face was...wrong.  His eyes were cold and there was no recognition of this closeness.  His cheeks were smooth and clean and he smelled...sweet...like a woman.  There was no mistaking that this was Stanley Marshwalker, but somehow he was not.  "...wha-?"

"What the are you doing," Stan cut the King off, shoving him with a rough hand to the chest.  "Elf ears?  Don't you think you're kinda old to be playing shitty games like this?" he raised both brows.

The King dropped his hold on Stanley's shorts, stumbling back.  He locked eyes with the Wizard King distrustfully.  The slightest twitch of a finger and he could be moving to cup a spell.  But, Stan had his back turned to him?  Too many things were _wrong._  What had happened while Kyle was in the swamp?   The King drew himself up to full height and faced the Wizard, "You've made no attempt on my life...?" he accused. 

The Wizard's brows just pinched a little- like he was caught off-guard.  "Not this week," he said honestly, then slowly, "...we cool, bro..."

And it was enough to jar the King thoroughly.

The Stick of Truth was a twig, his Ranger was scrawny, and the Grand Wizard was...some bulbous brat.  This was  _not_ Zaron.  Not as he knew it.  "This is..."  _not my world._  "There's...no magic in this world, is there?" he said slowly.  "The Stick worked..." 

The air went silent and heavy, then the Wizard resumed his raucous cackling.  The familiar blond boy standing with him elbowed him in the gut, eyes drawn on a worried expression as he looked back and forth between the Elf and his Ranger.  But, Stan just stared, blank-faced.  "The Stick...the Stick of Truth," he said emotionlessly.

"You know of it!" the King said, resisting the urge to grab Stan by the shoulders, "Then it does have power here?"

Stan's eyes pinched at the sides- almost a glare but more drained.  The corners of his mouth set tight and he stared in a long silence, "Fuck you." 

"...What!" 

Stan shoved the King- and there was the anger.  Just- it was...entirely unfounded.  Kyle stared wide-eyed, posture put open in shock for Stan to shove him again until he fell back, "I thought you were dead you _sick fuck_!"  

"...Stanley...how dare you?"

 _"How_ dare I?" Stan said, bewildered. "I dare like _this!"_   He shoved the King again.  "I dragged your ass outta the water, you were passed out, Kyle- you weren't _breathing_...You fucking dick."

"Stanley Marshwalker!  You will not speak to your King like this!"

"It's not funny!" the Ranger growled, grabbing Kyle by the ears and pulling, "Take it off!"

Kyle yelped and grabbed Marshwalker's hands, trying to pry them off- because it fucking hurt.  "Gods!  Stop!  Stop it!" he snapped, kneeing the Ranger in the gut to make him release.  There was no joy in the grunt of pain it received, but it did force Stan to let go.  The King covered his abused ears and stepped back, betrayed.  He took a shaky breath, folding his arms over his shivering chest.  

No- these were not the men that the Elven King had fought beside and against.  This King Cartman was human- he was sure of it, and his blond friend...he was...not sure.  But, Stanley- Stan was insolent and unbalanced.  He certainly was _not_  a Ranger of the King's watch.  

 _Not_ -Stan ignored his glare, wearing his own look of horror, "They're real..." he reported at _human_ -Eric and the blond boy.  "They're fucking real."  His eyes hooded, and he balled his fists, turning his back and storming to a nearby tree where dry clothes were hanging in semi-neat piles.  The King watched as he angrily pulled on a plain tunic and trousers then slid a short overcoat around his shoulders.  He struggled with his shoes for a moment, trying not to get mud in them but also not caring enough to thoroughly clean his feet before shoving them into the shoes and stomping back to the King.  "So, you're the High Jew Elf of Zaron then?" he said, spitting the title like an accusation, "You're the King of the Drow Elves of Larnion, ruler of the misty forests?"

The King watched the  _not-_ Ranger's...rampage incredulously.  "Yes," he breathed, so confused.

 _Not-_ Stan nodded, "Right. Yep,"  and, he turned to the other two boys and gave them a tight nod, "I'm going home."

He started to leave, but the human-Cartman was suddenly a flurry of motion.  "Stan, ey!" he snapped, grabbing his arm.  "You're tellin' me this guy's the real deal?" he said, lowering his voice (badly) and jabbing a thumb at the King.  "A living, breathing, Elf King- not Kahl- Kyle?"

"The ears are real," Stanley said.  "And, he's not acting."

The _not-_ Cartman took it on _not-_ Stan's authority, but Stan was already pulling away again.  "Ey, what about the Jew?" the _not_ -Wizard said.  Stan slowed just to glare.  "If you'd frost your sissy bitchfit, maybe you'd notice that Kahl just poofed off to _Neverland_ in a fucking lake-portal.  Aren't you gonna do something about that?"

"What can I do?" Stan said coldly.  "There was nothing in the water when I went down for him.  He's not down there.  I don't know where he is."  And, it didn't sound like he cared.

Human Cartman huffed, and he gave up on Stan and his apathy, letting him walk away again.  For a moment, Kyle was left alone with this other world's version of his most hated rival and...a familiar-faced blond boy.  Cartman was about to say something, he was opening his mouth-

But, before he could assault his ears with his filth, the Elf King jolted away, starting after the _not_ -Ranger, "Wait!" he cried.  Stan didn't, so King Kyle jogged into step beside him...in his breeches and shirtless in the cold, following him into a human town.  "You're Stanley Marshwalker-" _or someone similar,_ "...you...you're my Ranger."

"I'm Stan Marsh," he clipped, "And I'm your nothing."

"But, you know me," the King tried.  "You know my titles."

"Yeah.  I was there when we made them up," Stan deadpanned, walking faster.

"...Al...right...  So, my titles are made up in this world...?" the King waited for this Stan to respond, and when he was silent, he went on, babbling to fill the silence- to excuse his presence here- like if he went silent he had no right to exist in this place, "...So, I assume I'm not a King in this world?"  ...No answer.  "That makes sense if I've dispelled magic, I suppose.  There's always a price for heavy magic such as using the Stick.  ...And...you were surprised by my ears...I assume here they are human-?" 

"Your titles are made up because _you're_ made up," Stan snapped.  "And your ears aren't anything because you don't fucking _exist_!"  He stopped under a torch in the road and turned on the King, illuminated and angry.  "This is South Park.  This isn't Zaron.  Cartman and Kenny and me- we're just normal dudes on a typical spring break from school and we were hanging out and visiting and Kyle was there.  And he fucking touched something stupid and got himself zapped from our plane of existence. And, now _you're_ here bugging me instead.  Am I getting this right?"

The King shook his head that he didn't know. "I only sought the Stick to erase magic from the realm..." he explained.

For a moment they just stared at each other- then Stan laughed bitterly in exasperation- realizing...something.  Some unseen truth that the King couldn't place.  "Well, you got your damn world without magic," he said.  "Welcome to Earth."  He opened his arms in mock-greeting, giving a sham of a low bow, " _My Lord_."

He turned to walk away again and Kyle got that helpless feeling back, "Wait...I-where are you going?"

"Home."

"May I come with you?"

"No."

"...I have nowhere to go," the King's voice shook shamefully.  If this were anyone but Stan, he'd be more diligent with his pride, and while this was not _his_ Stan, it was not above the King to feel embarrassed, asking for help.  "I don't even know where I am...South Park...?"

The _not_ -Ranger turned to face him but kept his momentum, walking backwards on his heel, "Not my problem."  

"But, I know nothing of this world-"

"-Ask somebody," he said, still retreating.

"I am asking y-"

"No."

"But, I know _no one else_ to-"

"Then figure it out yourself."

"Where shall I even begin?-"

"Ask somebody else."

"But, I know _you_ \- and you know me," the King said, following Stan and getting ashamedly desperate.  This world he had created was not familiar, but Stan was in it- and Kyle needed him.  Even in this form.  "And, I believe you'll help me.  Because, if there's any trace of the Stanley I know and love within you, you love m-"

Stanley turned on his heel, "Fuck off!" he shouted, fists clenched.  

"Do not leave me," the King pleaded, but this world's Stan had already turned his back and the King just couldn't bring himself to beg any further...not under this context.  Not for this.  

No, there were no imminent threats here.  The Grand Wizard was a plain human.  The Lost Forest- if it could be called that- was tame.  The people of this world obviously spoke the King's language.  Even the town itself was simple and inviting.  The cobblestone of the road was long and continuous and impressively smooth- easily navigable from a moment's glance.  The buildings were designed in the human style and constructed of flat materials and painted neatly.  Their purposes were easily distinguished- for the most part, and the windows were all impossibly transparent and dark.  This town- wherever it was- was quiet and welcoming.  Kyle was sure that, at the very least, he could find an Inn for the night. 

But, he should probably be wearing clothes.

He turned back to the pond to retrieve the strange tunics and trousers the young men had hung in the trees.  His bare feet padded through the snowy dirt pathway back to Stark's Pond...or this world's equivalent.  The human Wizard King had vacated the scene, but his blond companion remained, watching him.  He was...so oddly familiar, it really did frustrate the King.  It didn't help that the man's face was now covered now in an orange hood, brighter than the southern fruits of the Isles that Ike often brought to Larnion from his travels.  If the man had acquired fabric of such a color to imitate the vibrant red hues of royalty, it must have cost a thick coin.  So, the King assumed he was wealthy as he approached, and he gave a bow to the familiar stranger.

"Mmm hm hmmhmhm?"

Taken aback, "Pardon?" the King said.

The blond pulled his hood down.  "What the fuck are you?"

"I..." the King's eyes couldn't quite hold the intense look this stranger was giving him, so he looked away, "...an Elf."

The blond nodded, not a glimpse of doubt on his face.  "Don't tell people that," he responded, and he suddenly threw something at the King's chest.  The elf caught it deftly, looking down at a green bundle of fabric, soft and worn.  "Put that on," the blond said.  "You're human.  Kyle Broflovski."

"Ah...alright," the King agreed.  "But, may I ask your name?"

The blond smirked, considering his answer for a moment "You can call me Princess."

Kyle raised both brows in recognition and surprise- this was certainly a...new look.  "Princess Kenny."

The blonde just quirked a brow salaciously and that was confirmation enough.  The King smiled.  The Princess had been a good friend up until the moment she was...not.  And, he could not fault her for falling to the Stick's manipulation- such was the nature of the relic- way the Grand Wizard had intended it.  It was good to have a friend in a familiar face.

Kenny unhooked the remaining clothes from the hanging tree and handed them off to the King as he dressed.  "Those titles Stan threw at you match up pretty damn well to some some stories we made up as kids," she explained.  "So, we're rolling with the theory that you popped out of our old LARPing game.  Cartman's gone home to get his notes since we're all a bit rusty on the lore, but don't worry, fatass'll plot on some ballsy plan and it'll work out."  Somehow, those words from this strange world's Princess had the King nodding obediently as he pulled his tunic over his head.  "But, until we have this shit sorted, you've gotta blend.  That means-" the blonde grabbed the hat from the King's hands and shoved it over his curls, "-covering these ears...and avoiding people."

The King allowed Kenny to fix the hat on his head, watching her, awed. "You truly believe I'm the Elven King of your legends?" 

"This is South Park.  Shit happens."  The blonde shrugged casually and handed Kyle a pair of short leather boots, "You can stay in my guest house with the other renters..."

Renters?  So, that's how this princess made her fortune?  She was an inn-keeper?  But, "I thought you said I should avoid people-"

"Ehhh, normal people," she corrected, "These guys don't really count." 


	3. Putting Blood on the Dancefloor- and other questionable decisions

_The Great Hall of Kupa Keep was a massive open space,- the throne room of the Wizard King.  The Red Throne sat raised on iron dials with high and narrow steps; seven swords protruded from it's back to symbolize the Seven Kingdoms, and the silk that lined the seat was woven with the finest gold and gems.  A long carpet stretched from the throne between the pillars that held the roof to the great oak-bronze doors.  The hall itself was so grand it was_   _capable of housing an audience of a thousand men._

_Instead there were two._

_And they had been arguing sun up to sun down for two days, trying- and failing fast- to build a compromise.  
_

_“-Well I'll not have you poison the health of magic in this realm, the Necromancer will blacken it with death," the Elf King growled. "Magic is meant to protect life…you know this!"_

_“You think I give a shit about the ‘health of magic’.”_

_“You are a wizard-"  
_

_“Ey!" Cartman snapped his fingers in Kyle's face.  "I’m a King.  And, I would relinquish magic for my people.”_

_The Elf King drew back.  The Wizard could surrender his magic, but Elves could not.  The trolls could not- dwarves could not.  Any creature of the earth had magic woven into their very existence.  The darkness would be unavoidable.  All-consuming.  “You’d betray every creature of the earth- condemn them to the void-”_

_"I rule the Seven Kingdoms!" the Wizard snapped.  "The civilization of man rests on my shoulders- I would stop at_  nothing!   _It_ _'s not as_ _if you've never made sacrifices for your people!"_

_"Not like this!"_

_“Well, it’s easy for you.  Howlers can’t torment you because your people never fucking die!”  He spun on the Elf King, grabbing him, dark pits under his bloodshot eyes._

_“Just grant me another chance to contain them," the King's voice dropped lower- gentler, and he put a hand on Cartman's shoulder. "Lend me your magic and we can retrieve the Stick from the Stark's Pond and we-”_

_Cartman slapped his hands away and pushed past him, stalking to the other side of the hall.  “Fuck you!  Like hell I’d let you get your grubby Elf claws on that relic!  We destroyed it so you’d never wield it again.”_

_“We banished it because it was poisoned!” Kyle snapped back, bristling.  “You created it to be so, did you not?!  You betrayed my trust and fucked over the entire future of the elven race just to solidify your rule over the humans!  And you know what happened because of it  I've forgiven you for a thousand years of war.  But, you think I_ want _to bring the Stick back?”  No, the Elf shuddered to even consider it.  If it wasn't for Stanley's insistence, begging the King to try diplomacy, Kyle wouldn't be in the kingdom of men at all.  “It's evil.  But, you need my power to lock the Howlers back up in the mountain. I need the Stick to do it.”_

_“It’s not gonna happen, Elf.  You had your chance to clean up your mess.”_

_Kyle stepped forward._ _“Give me another!-"_

_“Guards!”_

_“-Mark me, Wizard, if you do this-”_

_“He threatens me!  Get him out!”_

_Two armored knights grabbed the Elf King's arms, restraining him and pulling him back.  And, the Elf knew he could fight them, but more would come if he did.  “-Cartman!”_

_..._

* * *

"Not the King?"

The forest was loud enough to swallow their voices and the trees were so wide the horse could fit entirely behind one.  It was easy for the Ranger keep out of sight of the Elven guards as he grabbed Kyle by the arm and pulled him down off the horse.  When he shoved him gently against the tree- Kyle found he couldn't push out of his hold and he glared.  "Dude, let go-"

"We are still fighting the Necromancer's horde, so either you failed to complete the spell or we were tricked.  And,  _you,"_ the Ranger pushed Kyle a little harder against the tree, and Kyle got the feeling that people didn't treat the King like this- that Stan was breaking a rule and neither of them were comfortable in this situation, "You're human now,  _m'Lord_ , which is what you've always wanted...mortality... The Stick is a cursed relic, so what do you mean you're not the King?"

"I mean  _I'm not the King_ ," Kyle repeated, feeling pinned.  "And your breath smells fucking gross; back off."  The Ranger did with a brief glint of self-consciousness, quickly covered with a scowl, but Kyle knew his face too well and he found strong-man-Stan's vulnerability extremely satisfying. "Sorry dude, but seriously- this is all just a game," he said.  "The Elf King of Larnion, the Ranger of the woods- we made this shit up."  

The Ranger's brows drew together tight and he narrowed his eyes, loosely holding Kyle's robes at his chest.  "A...game?"

"Yeah, we were kids...with access to HBO."

The Ranger was silent, squinting at Kyle like he'd gone insane.  

The intensity and proximity of his gaze had Kyle's neck burning. "Look, as far as I know, I'm at the bottom of the lake and this is all a dream."

"...You think you're dreaming," the Ranger's dirty face scrunched deeper, "of  _this_?"  He dropped his hold on Kyle's chest and jabbed his thumb into the distance where the King's guards were discretely burning the corpse of the undead dire wolf even as it started twitching its way back to life.

"Fuck if I know."  And, Stan had a point.  Beyond the dire wolf, the forest itself was horrifying- massive trees and a thick fog set between them.  Hidden beneath imposing moss and ferns, the ground seemed to teem with bugs- the creepy kind with too many legs, and it made Kyle's entire body tingle. The game had been fun when they were kids- some of the last good fun Kyle could remember having with Stan and the guys, and maybe that's why he was dreaming about it, but Kyle didn't admit it aloud. "Honestly," he said, "I'm not even sure where this is..."

The Ranger's face relaxed and he turned to his saddle bags, waving Kyle off.  "You still suffer lack of air, m'Lord," he decided, voice tight.  It was a better reality to believe than that the Stick had replaced the King with a stranger.  

But, the Ranger was kidding himself.  "I'm not your Lord, Stan, I-"

"The trauma's taken your mind for a bit as it sometimes does.  Your memories will return soon enough-"

"-I'm not-"

"We'll get you back to Larnion and we shall regroup and see what to do about-"

"-an elf-"

"the food shortage and-"

"I'm human!"

The Ranger stopped and turned, holding a mass of fur he'd pulled from the saddle bag.  His mouth opened, but he just drew in a breath, glanced at Kyle's ears, then turned his eyes down.  "So you've said, love."  He unfolded the cloth, mouth pressed thin.  It was a cloak- which the Ranger proceeded to drape gently around Kyle's shoulders. The Ranger wouldn't meet Kyle's eyes as he drew the soft hood up over Kyle's human ears, no matter how much Kyle stared.  At least the fantasies were accurate- this wasn't even a real Stan and they were bickering already.  

Kyle let the Ranger pull him back up onto the horse and goddamn, Stan's hands were unshakable...he lifted Kyle's weight like it was nothing.  

Kyle didn't like it.  Wasn’t this supposed to be _his_ coma dream?  Why the fuck was he dreaming about Stan being strong...and hot?   _Shit._   He'd thought he was over his stupid infatuation with his ex-best friend.  Sure, Stan was attractive, but the juxtaposition of his gentle features on this rough ranger was aggressively sexy.  Soft blue eyes and long lashes under thick dark brows, a tapered jaw- specked with stubble, a small curved nose- slashed with an old white scar that extended over tanned cheeks.  It didn't help that he'd been manhandling Kyle back and forth since he'd woke up here, calling him 'love'.  What the fuck was up with that?

After their lovely one-sided exchange, they resumed riding, galloping up behind the Elven guards and slowing to a canter.  There was a long distance to cover, the Ranger said.  Kyle expected their pace would be much more comfortable from here on, so he shifted to try and sit more on his butt, unfortunately the tilt of the saddle kept pushing his hips forward into Stan's ass and it was hard not to sit on his own dick.  They rode for hours like this, past what the guards were calling the Goth Dens and the Fire Ogre lairs.  The Ranger did little but glance back and shift his own hips up to give more space.  The friction was the opposite of helpful.  Kyle thought his face would pop from blood flushing his cheeks.

Why did the King not bring his own horse?

They rode for hours in silence and Kyle had to move around or his legs got stiff.  Their pace wasn't quite slow.  The forest didn't allow for a leisurely ride, and the guards were saying the nearest town was still a ways off.  Kyle shifted his weight back again since he was leaning forward too much-

And Stan's hand suddenly between his legs pulled a yelp from him.  

"I have plenty of space m'Lord," the Ranger assured, and he reached behind himself to pull Kyle in close- or at least coax him to move.  His palm deliberately squeezed Kyle's crotch before he dragged his hand over his thigh and grabbed his butt, sliding Kyle down the saddle by force until his dick was snug against the small of his back. "Be comfortable," he invited, and this position was so much better that, for a moment, Kyle was convinced the Ranger was honestly just concerned for his King's comfort.  But, a moment later, Stan ruined that by rolling his hips back and smirking over his shoulder.

He kept up a slow friction that Kyle couldn't shift out of, and it went on for several minutes before Kyle finally snapped at the Ranger to knock it off in a hushed voice.  He didn't want the guards seeing him pop a boner against the Ranger's ass.  Stan agreed with an intimate smile that screamed of familiarity.  He whispered promise of 'later then, m'Lord'.  Kyle gulped.

_That was **not** part of the game._

"...Why did we wanna get rid of magic?" Kyle whispered, needing to break the tension. 

The Ranger's smirk dropped.  "It was your idea..." he paused, "Your Grace...gods, did you hit your head or something?"

"No, dipfuck, I told you," Kyle huffed, "I'm hallucinating about our stupid LARPing game and I dunno..."  

Stan's expression hardened.

So, Kyle changed tactics, "Just answer your King's questions."

The Ranger gave him a weary, suspicious look.

"Go on," he said imperatively.

"We are at war, _S_ _ire,"_ the Ranger said obediently, turning his back.  "...The door to the underworld was opened and the Seven Kingdoms of man were ravaged by the ghosts of their dead- _ho_ _wlers,"_ he explained.  "Many died- many more lost their minds.  It is said the Wizard King suffered more than anyone.  He's outlived so many people- and given so many a reason to hate him for it, throngs of howlers came back to haunt him."  With the dramatic way the Ranger talked, the horses' footsteps between Stan's words sounded like war drums _._   "He blamed us for the siege and demanded our help.  You tried to cast a cleansing spell on Kupa Keep, but your magic's been weakened for years, and it failed.  Cartman was furious...and in his madness, he called on the Necromancer to reign in the howlers and punish the Drow Elves for our mistakes."  Stan's voice was hard and his hands were holding the horse's reigns so tightly his knuckles were white.  Kyle got the urge to cover them with his own- but he didn't.  "The Necromancer sent _walkers_ \- bodies of slain immortals and beasts of the forest- undead.  ...The only way to kill a walker is to burn its body...and when they came to the trees, Larnion burned with them."

Kyle didn't know what to say, but Stan had paused.  "...oh," he muttered and he shifted in the saddle.  

Stan glanced back, "The Seven Kingdoms of man are no longer safe for elves, and the forests are teeming with the Necromancer's horde, so we spread our people into safer lands- City Wok, Kern, the underlands, the Tower of Peace.  Your brother took those fit to sail to his coves."  Stan faced forward again, moving up in the saddle so their hips didn't touch.  "We traveled here to find the Stick in hopes of undoing the damage done by the Necromancer's spell."

"By getting rid of magic," Kyle finished.  It made sense.  

If everyone's losing the game, change the rules.  

...

By nightfall, the forest had thinned.  The sounds of the creatures in the trees became more familiar- less monstrous.  Birds were settling for the night and bats had taken the skies, crickets and cicadas chirped in the dark grasses, and a thick swarm of fireflies blinked like stars.  Kyle had leaned his weight into Stan's back, face smushed into the furs of his cloak, dozing off to the rocking of the horse's gait.  

When he woke, he had almost forgotten where he was and the Ranger's face shocked him again.  He jolted.  

Which earned a raised brow from the Ranger who dismounted and held a hand to help Kyle down.  "We've reached Stoletry, my _King,"_  he said.  "We'll stop here for the night to give the horses rest."

Maybe twenty minutes later, the horses were stabled and Kyle was being shuffled into a tavern between his guards, all disguised in hoods and cloaks, hands being filled with horns of ale and ears assaulted with rowdy songs of drunken travelers.  The stench of sweaty men and livestock made the air thick to breathe and Kyle just laughed, awed.  This was pretty fucking awesome.  He'd never been an imaginative kinda guy, and the massive forest was one thing, but this fantasy was so authentic he could barely believe his mind had made it up.  It's like he'd stepped into the _Fellowship of the Ring!_

The Ranger guided him to a thick oak table in the back corner, dimly lit, and he pushed Kyle down into a chair between the two guards.  "Keep your heads down," he ordered, eyes distracted.  He took Kyle's cup, setting a new one in front of him.  "Drink.  I'll be back."

Kyle raised a brow as the Ranger disappeared to the bar.  He lifted his horn and followed orders, taking a sip of the warm beer, immediately moving it from his lips to squint at the dark liquid.  "Holy shit..." he breathed.  "It's good..."  And, he gulped it- parched.  He'd had some pretty shitty beer at college rugby parties, but this was legit fucking beer.  

The two guards laughed and Kyle grinned. Volodar and Elaith they were named- Kyle had overheard most of their conversations while they'd been riding.  They were good friends, talked easily among themselves- and to the Ranger.  They must've served together.  They must've been trusted to the King for him to have them as his guards at such a troubled time.  Kyle grinned at them and raised his horn in cheers before finishing it off.  They drank to him in return.  This fantasy was turning out to be pretty sweet actually...Volodar leaned in to tell him a story-

A loud crash and a woman's scream interrupted the moment.  

The Ranger emerged from the crowd, wiping his sword with a cloth.  The patrons of the tavern moved aside to let him through, mouths gaping.  The music died down and a heavy hush went over the entire house.  Stan sheathed the sword and walked casually back to the table in the corner- his metal boots clacking loudly against the stone floor.  He leaned down, talking just loud enough that the three of them could hear.  "Drink your horns and let's go."

"What's wrong?" Kyle said, pushing up from the oak table.

The Ranger's eyes dropped to the ales he'd handed them, "Just drink," he said, pushing Kyle back down and sitting beside him.  He turned his back, watching the people of the tavern slowly return to their own parties, cooly absorbing the horrified expressions of the other patrons.  

Kyle finished his second horn in a few gulps- and his guards had topped four apiece.  The Ranger immediately corralled the three of them up and towards the door, not saying a word of it.  The crowd parted obediently as they passed, the same heavy hush setting in to see them out.  Stan slipped a coin into a blonde house maid's apron as they passed, whispering a thanks over her shoulder.  Kyle swore he saw her blushing and he raised both brows to get a better look at her, stopping until Stan's hand grabbed his cloak and tugged him out.

"We're not staying here?" Kyle said, stumbling to keep up.

"What Tavern gives free ale,  _m'Lord?_ " the Ranger growled.

Kyle's mouth went slack in realization and he almost stumbled.  "You just...killed someone-"

"Yes."

"-who tried to poison me?"

"Yes."

Kyle choked a little on his next breath, "Y-you  _checked_  it was poisoned, right?!"

The Ranger's lip twitched on a grin,  "No, my Lord.   _He_ did."

Kyle quickened his pace away from the Ranger's grip, heart pounding into his throat.  They rucked quickly back to the stables with their traveling packs, and the Ranger released his grip on Kyle's cloaks.  The redhead kept walking forward unguided, heading for the stalls where they'd racked their horses.  But, a hand grabbed his shoulder.  Volodar turned him around to where Stan and Elaith were saddling up three new horses.  

It took a moment to click.  "...but...these aren't ours..."

"Yes," the Ranger glanced up, "ours've travelled a long way- I'll not make them carry us any further tonight."

Kyle baulked.  "So...we're stealing?  Is that what the King does now?  Because in _my_ game-"

The Ranger cut him off with a coin, flashed between two fingers, both brows raised.

"But, no one agreed to trade- we can't just-"

The Ranger made the two steps it took to be level with the human.  "We can't just kill three men in a busy tavern," he growled, his voice like the scraping of rocks underfoot.  "That's what we _can't_ do.  Not without being noticed.  Stoletry is close to the West Kingdoms- and I can guarantee you, word's out that we were here.  It'll fly on the wings of Rumor and the Wizard's men will be upon us by dawn if we stay..."  He took Kyle's hand- again with the hand-holding- and helped him up onto the tallest of the three new ponies, "These horses are well-groomed and well-fed," he said as he strapped the saddle.  "Their owners took proper care of them and they'll take care of ours the same.  That gold is plenty recompense for an unwitting barter."

Of course Stan would go out of his way for the animals.  All this just to let some ponies sleep?  It didn't make Kyle any more comfortable with stealing.

But, nonetheless, they kicked off and rode on, fast and hard by the full moons, over moors and through rocky crags, covering their tracks as they went.  It was beautiful in a medieval, rustic way, and all Kyle could think was _holy_ _shit, is this New Zealand?_


	4. You Were Expecting Meth Heads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger: islamaphobia, homophobic slurs, Cartman.

_3 dec 23:48_

_> Hey dude Cartman told me about the break up._

_> If you wanna talk I'm here._

_4 dec 03:15                                ._

_> Fuck off.  This has nothing to do with you or what you said.  _

_> I'm moving seats in class and dropping the group project.  _

_- >I don't wanna talk to you again._

_> Wow._

_> You couldn't just nut up and punch me like a man?_

_> How about fuck you.  _

_> I'm done._

_> Tell me what I was supposed to do_

_> I really have no idea_

 

_4 dec 05:24_

_> Stan_

_> Don't do this_

_4 dec 09:51_

_> Stan please_

_> I shouldn't have said that_

_> But you didn't have to snap like that_

_> Dick_

_..._

_17 dec 23:15_

_> Dude_

_> C'mon_

_> We still need to talk about this_

_17 dec 23:45_

_> Real mature, Stan_

_18 dec 04:43_

_> How's the silent treatment thing working out for you?_

_> Does it make you feel strong?_

_> It should, you make me feel like shit without saying a word_

_> Good job asshole_

_> It's a talent_

_..._

_03 jan 03:57_

_> Please, Stan._

_> I can't take this anymore._

_> I never meant to hurt you.  _

_> I fucked up.  _

_> I know that now.  It's my fault._

_03 jan 04:25_

_> I can't do this without you_

_> Please _

_..._

_09 jan 04:23_

_> Alright I give._

_> Fuck you.  I'm done._

_> I'm done._

_..._

* * *

Stan still kept this goddamn conversation in his messages for the same reason Kyle's Facebook page was still bookmarked on his laptop.  He was a fucking masochist.

Well, no.  Not totally.

Just a little.

The habit lingered.

That conversation was over a year old now and really, he was doing a lot better lately.  He thought less and less of Kyle every day.  And, when he did, he regretted wasting seventeen years of his life wrapped around his finger.  How many times had he risked his life for Kyle?  How many times had he twisted himself into knots?  And had Kyle been accessible when Stan needed him?  No.  

What had once been the grossest kind of unrequited love ever now looked more like bitterness.

He'd call it progress.

College was great.  No it was fanfuckingtastic.  On the other side of the country, Stan had new friends- new  _great_ friends.  He loved them and he was pretty sure they loved him too.  It was all good.  Everyone was rational. No one started riots over stupid disagreements, no one repressed themselves to a breaking point, no one shoved their beliefs down anyone's throat.  It was chill.  Stan had found balance.  It was peaceful.  

God, he was so fucking bored.

When he came back for spring break early, he had driven into the middle of Cartman's Bradley Cooper memorial service in honor of his 'service as a Navy Seal' and 'most lethal sniper in American history'.  The entire town was wreathed in American flags, patriotic music played in every store, and rifles hung over every doorway.  It was fucking beautiful.  Offensive as shit, loathsome and completely Islamaphobic.

Stan wasted no time in getting Wendy involved with a few strategic phone calls through Kenny.  Her wrath was swift and brutal and Harvard-educated.  Within two hours, half the women in the town were wearing hijabs like some kinda fucking fashion statement.  

Typical.

Living in a city had forced Stan to realize that this small-town stupidity suited him, but as much as he was withering in Boston, South Park no longer welcomed him.  

Because the drama of senior year had resulted in Stan's shameful rejection by nearly every person living in Park County, he stayed home at Kenny's mansion complex and spent most his time with him and Cartman.  They both had set up their own stakes in town after graduation.  These days, Cartman was running a law firm that protected police officers who assaulted civilians.  Kenny had come into a huge sum of money from a sex-scandal, but he never talked about it.  So, they lounged around Kenny's place while Stan worked on projects and papers for school.  The distraction was so beyond welcome, he always gave in easily and followed whatever convoluted scheme Cartman was working up.

Including the annual nighttime swim at Stark's Pond...

He should've known Kyle was gonna be there.  He didn't blame Cartman or Kenny for inviting him.  Kyle was just as much a part of the old gang as Stan was- if not more.  It was just...Stan could barely stand to think of Kyle, much less see his face.  

Kyle had made it easy to ignore him- thank fuck- until he'd had to go and nearly fucking drown himself.  

Stan couldn't ignore that.

The rush of the moment was a blur.  Strange light from the center of the pond, a low rumble and the sudden flash.  Stan had been close enough to Kenny to pull him up out of the water, Cartman splashing out behind them.  They three had huddled on the shore, frozen to watch the water slosh about its confines.  The air was heavy as they all waited- prayed.  Red hair and a body bobbed up to the surface...and hung there limp...

Stan locked himself in his room in Kenny's guest house.  He watched out his window as Kenny brought the Elf King of Zaron home with him, guiding him up the front walk toward the mansion complex.  He couldn't be mad about what people Kenny brought back to his own massive fucking house.  Stan just hoped he knew what he was doing.  This guy was a King- probably a total brat.  This wasn't his world, dude was probably hazed as fuck right now.  

On some level, Stan had gotten what he wanted.  Kyle Broflovski- out of his life.  

...wisked away to a foreign land- to Zaron.

A world of war.

 _Fuck._   

The space-heater was growling like a miniature gate to hell.  Stan kicked it, pacing the floor from the window to the wall.  He picked up the bottle of Jack Daniels sitting out on his counter, gulping down the last few drops of whisky from the bottom as he paced.  This wasn't his problem.  It really wasn't.

 _Kyle's body bobbed to the surface...and hung there limp..._ _and Stan immediately dove back into the water._

He stopped in his tracks, looking down to the carpet.  

"...Goddammit."

...

"-It's basically a small city where adults go to learn..." Cartman's voice was explaining as Stan stepped out the elevator and rounded the corner into the first floor loft.  He'd just seen Kenny escorting the King inside, but now the blond was nowhere to be seen.

Instead, the King was sitting on Kenny's couch- next to fatass.  Their conversation looked civil so far.  "Yes, we have a University in Larnion..."

"Seriously?  I didn't put education in Kupa Keep- fuck, you were an asshole..."  There was the sound of flipping papers and Stan stepped into the room.  Cartman must've gotten here a few moments before Kenny had brought the King over because he was plopped on Kenny's lounge sofa cradling the old yellow spiral notebook he'd written down the D&D rules in for their Zaron game.  He looked up as Stan came in, a wicked smile cracking his face.  "Ah, here's our other passenger."

Stan stopped, two sets of eyes suddenly on him.  "What?"

"Guess who's shipping up to Boston?"  Cartman tweaked both eyebrows.

"...No."

Cartman's grin widened.  "Nah, Stan- nah, it's a good thing!  You'll help King Kyle get settled in on campus and Kinny and I'll visit you guys at skewl.  The gang united- just like old times but better because Kahl's gone- we can meet all your friends, you can show the King all the best gay clubs- he's just told me you two are _close_ in his world," a lewd finger-fucking hand motion accompanied Cartman's teasing.

"I'm not helping you babysit the King," Stan snapped, narrowing his eyes.  "I thought you wanted to get our Kyle back."

"Of course!" Cartman said.  "But, check it, Stan- this guy's a fucking King.  From  _Zaron_.  He's like a bajillion years old.  We're gonna do our very best to get our sweet Jew back, but in the meantime, we've gotta pass him off as Kahl and while we're at it, why not pick up a thing or two about the fantasy world-"

"We  _are_ sending him back," Stan warned.  

The Elf glanced over his shoulder to where Stan was standing behind the sofa- quickly averting his eyes before they could meet his.

"Yes, of course, Stan.  Of course," Cartman said, waving a hand.  "I'm just saying, he should follow Kyle's schedule as long as he's here- y'know, blend."

Stan hadn't relaxed at all.  He already knew where this was going.  Cartman and Kenny were going to drop the King off at MIT and fuck off to dick around the city then leave, dumping this alien man in Stan's lap for him to explain the intricacies of the modern world and college life.  "MIT's across the river," he protested.  "I don't go over and visit those nerds-"

"Visit?" the King cut in, glancing back.  "I was under the assumption that you would be attending University _with_ me-?" 

And hadn't Stan heard that one from Kyle before?  "I couldn't get into MIT."

Cartman had fixed his eyes on the Elven King who had gone silent in contemplation and turned his face away.  Fatass scooted his way over on the sofa to sit closer to the King, jabbing a thumb at Stan, "See, Stan's at Boston University just across the river from MIT where you'll go in a few days.  He basically followed his boner across the country- thousands of miles- out of some fucked up fantasy that they'd rekindle his _lost flame_ with our world's Kahl-gah-!"

Stan had grabbed the back of Cartman's shirt, pulling it up until he choked.  "Shut _the fuck up,"_ he growled. Cartman spluttered.  "There's  _nothing_  left between us. I fucking hate him."

There was a heavy beat of silence.

Stan dropped his hold. Cartman cleared his throat, coughing dramatically for several minutes.

"...I don't understand..." the King said so quiet Stan barely heard him.  "If you loathe your Kyle so...why accompany him across the land?"

Cartman piped up, "It's just the laws of nature, my King," he said, slinging an arm over the elf's shoulders who turned to him with distrustful eyes.  "Fags can't fight."  

Stan hit the back of his head.  

"No, it's true, Stan!  It's true!" Cartman huffed.  "I'm not trying to offend you!  It's not your fault- facts are facts, bruh- you can't even break up with Kahl without following him to Boston.  You two are codependent because you're so hella gay it's manifested as a physical mass with a gravitational pull."  He turned to the King, but the Elf leaned away from the physical contact.  "That's why fags can't hit each other, y'see. Their punches are negatively charged so they repel.  And, that's why they can't leave each other alone.  Gravity. Physics. Nature."

Of everything wrong with what Cartman had just said, "I didn't break up with Kyle," Stan huffed. 

"No, of course you didn't Stan," Cartman said, voice going uncomfortably gentle, "Kyle broke  _your_ heart, I know..."

"Do you wanna shut up?!"

"Do you two want the room to make out for a bit?" Kenny stepped into the loft, carrying a laptop and its cord.  He gave Stan a pausing look, obviously surprised to see he'd come downstairs.  He didn't wait for anyone to answer that, just slipped over the back of the couch to sit beside Cartman.  "I booked our plane tickets."

"Sweeeet."

Kenny tilted his head back to see Stan, "And you?  You're in?"

Stan frowned hard.  He hated every bit of this.  Just having Kyle's characteristically big hair so close to him was making him feel physical ill.  But, judging by the size of the yellow notebook, there were years' worth of characters' plots and information to skim through.  This was the only source of information that might send him back without the Stick of Truth- it would take time to read it all- not to mention picking the Elf King's head for any hints.  Honestly, Stan knew the poor bastard was gonna be stuck here for awhile.  Kyle would be expected back in classes in six days.  Cartman and Kenny were right- he'd need to blend.  Stan would be the closest to help him do it.  But...before he agreed.  

"...Your world- Zaron...or Larnion or whatever...is it dangerous?" he said.

The King turned, his whole body shifting on the sofa to face Stan.  That intense stare was back, eyes searching.  His fist clenched in the top cushion.  "Yes, very."

Stan nodded solemnly.  "Okay.  I'm in."


	5. Two Fingers n'Cider

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read the title aloud if you didn't get the joke.
> 
> Triggers: Alcoholism, mild gore, suggestive content

_"You've had one of these before, right?"  Mr. Marsh poured a can out into a glass._

_"A beer?  Yeah,"  Kyle said, slipping onto the counter stool._ _Stan's dad gave him a look and he floundered. "Ah-_ _I mean...my mom wanted to introduce me to drinking so I'd be responsible when-"_

_"We're not drinking, Kyle- this is a Kopstootsie," Mr. Marsh set two elegantly-brimmed shot glasses on the table and poured gin into each.  "You do it like this-" he bent forward, put his hands behind his back, and slurped his shot before grabbing the unopened beer can and downing it.  He crushed the can in his fist and belched._

_Kyle gave him a withering look but followed suit, taking the shot as demonstrated and picking up the beer.  "Sorry, Mr. Marsh, but why-?  
_

_"Randy- please.  You're a man now, call me Randy."_

_Kyle glared at his glass,"Randy. Why did you call me over?"  No offense to Stan's dad, but the Marshs' doors weren't really open to Kyle anymore.  "To...drink with you?"_

_"Not drinking!  Observing Dutch traditions."  Randy poured himself another finger of gin and filled one for Kyle.  "Your dad tells me you got into MIT," he said, raising the shot in a toast._

_Kyle raised a brow, "I did...yeah."_

_Randy took his shot fast and downed the beer faster. "Congratulations, Kyle. I know your parents are so proud and...I'm proud too."  He folded his hands on the counter.  "I know you and Stan have your ups and downs, but I want you to always feel welcome here.  You're practically a son to me.  You and him were so close I can still hear the patter of your little feet as you beat the shit outta each other...you two were great."  Randy was wearing a wistful expression, nursing his beer fondly._ _**  
** _

_Kyle listened with emotional detachment._

_Randy wanted something._

_"But...yea uh, after everything that's happened, you can understand...Sharon and I are nervous about the whole...college thing for Stan," Randy's tone went somber, and Kyle's gut dropped, waiting for him to say they'd keep Stan home...which might actually kill him this time.  "He got into Boston University," he announced instead.  Kyle's brows shot up. "Which is great and all- I mean, we always wanted him in Denver, playing for the Broncos- he still loves the Broncos, but you can understand why it's not an option now."  Kyle gulped down beer over the knot in his throat.  Randy went on, "Lately, he's dead-set on going far away- for some reason," he shrugged._ _"And really, the only way we're cool with that is if he sticks near you, so all's well really."_

_Kyle stared, mouth gaping.  "What?"_

_"Yeah, remember when you two started looking at all those schools together?" Randy took another gulp of beer. "Stan focused on Boston when you kept talking about MIT.  I think he always knew you'd get in so he put all his chips down and did the early decision application."_

_So...if Stan went to college, the only place he'd go would be ten minutes from Kyle..._

_Kyle downed his second shot and poured another._

_"Sharon didn't wanna let him go after what he did- she's worried, y'know?  But I told her- I said_ 'Sharon, babe, Kyle's gonna be right there.  He'll watch out for Stan- he always has _'."  Kyle's throat went tight; he couldn't breathe, but Randy went on, mimicking Sharon's voice.  "And she was like_ 'I know, Randy, I know Kyle's great but we can't expect him to keep watching over Stan, he's got his own life' _, and I was like_ 'No Sharon, listen- listen Sharon, Kyle's cool.  He's cool, he's like a fuckin hero, he'll just do it if Stan's there cause bros got each other's backs no matter what _'...Right?"_

_The guilt choked Kyle's thoughts.  Randy had flipped the switch in his head and stopped the machine- the sound of bolts slipping loose somewhere.  "...right."_

δ 

* * *

The wind picked up as they charged through the moors of Tuckerton.  It carried the clouds away so that the sky lit with thousands of stars and a second moon on the horizon, huge and half-accreted.  

Somewhere in the distance, a low thumping sound caught the guards' attention and Kyle made the mistake of looking out over the fields to see a party of zombied corpses scrambling to the woods, bodies flopping like demented puppets.  The caravan was tailed by a giant- twenty feet tall, flesh falling off in tatters.  None of them seemed to notice the party of elves- nor had they bothered to look around.  Still, Kyle shuddered at the sight.

Elaith whooped once they'd passed, "Oooo, that was a big'n."

"Bigger they are, harder they fall," Volodar slurred.  

Elaith barely blinked, "Or harder they kick your ass..."

They both dissolved into giggles.  

The Ranger's hands tightened on his reins.  The two guards were swaying a little on their horses.  "Are you two...drunk?" Marshwalker growled.  

"Not yet, Sir," Elaith raised a pouch as he held to his horse with one hand.  "But, there's still cider left if'ya want some."  

Kyle felt rather than saw the Ranger face-palm.

They tugged the horses down a more discrete path through the hills, and in a short time, a structure came into sight- a massive tower, several stories tall, stone laced with arching battlements.  As they drew closer to the hill it was perched on, the wall and guardhouse came into view.  

A fortress.  

Kyle would recognize it anywhere- treehouse or medieval stronghold, he knew the spiked shape of the tower, the drawbridge moat and the parapets. The Dark Overlord's fortress...

...

It didn't take long to lower the drawbridge; Elven arrows with enchanted ropes made quick work of the rusted pulley.  Within minutes, they had ridden their horses into the center bailey.  And, honestly, this fantasy wasn't so much fun anymore.  Kyle was exhausted.  His ass was saddle-sore, his back had the crick of his fucking life, and this place gave him the heebs.  It was dead quiet, eerily still, and Kyle had seen some nasty shit before, but this was gross- lit in shades of midnight grey, he could make out crumbled ramparts and small masses...dismembered hands and feet and heads- strewn all across the courtyard and the battlements- some still gripping weapons.  But, that was it.  No bodies, just...pieces.  

This is where the war for the Stick of Truth had ended.

"Are you sure of this?" Elaith said, voice weary.  He took a gulp from the pouch of cider and glanced back at the Ranger uneasily.  

Stan threw his leg up over the horse's neck, dismounting gracefully.  "Yes.  We make camp here," he ordered.  "No one's laid foot in this land since the Final Battle."

"But, is this really prudent..." Elaith pressed, "where have all the bodies gone?"

Volodar tensed.  "...You know damn well."  

"It's safe from men!" Marshwalker snapped, "that's all that matters."

No one relaxed.

They brought their horses with them into the keep, tying them up in the disarming chamber because it was more secure than the stables.  Volodar and Elaith scoped out the tower complex to ensure that they'd be alone while the Ranger returned to the courtyard to retrieve water.  

Kyle followed Stan.  In their LARPing game, the Ranger had led the ground forces during the siege of this fortress- he'd probably personally sliced off some of the little chunks-of-person that littered the ground.  Marshwalker knew this place better than anyone alive; his company was a comfort.  Still- the place was fucking creepy.

The Ranger pointed to the center of the courtyard where a large carved skull statue was smiling at them, mouth gaping open.  "There's a well inside that statue."  He leaned towards Kyle. "Allow me to handle this, m'Lord.  I don't like the way those guys are drifting around it."

Kyle squinted at the fountain, not seeing anyone.  "What," he deadpanned.  "What guys?"

"The spirits," Stan said obviously.  

"Ghosts?"  

"Yes."  

Kyle squinted, expecting to see some wispy figures or  _something_ , but whatever Stan was seeing was invisible.  "Bullshit."

The Ranger looked at him, frowning.  "They're standing  _right there_."

"Okay...well, I can't see them."

"Seriously?"

"Yes- I don't see dead people...or whatever.  People don't do that."

" _I_ do," Stan said defensively.

"Yeah, well you were raised by wolves and ran around sniffing dirt and shit.  I don't know- your senses are better."  

The Ranger's blank-faced incredulity had Kyle thinking maybe he got that part of the story wrong.  Until, "I didn't sniff shit," he said petulantly.  

Kyle snorted.  "Whatever- I can't see your ghosts."

"Is there anything you  _can_  do?"

Kyle paused.  When no better ideas came to him, he shrugged, gave Marshwalker a pointed look and belched- low and loud, rumbling in his throat.  It echoed off the battlements.

Marshwalker blinked, wide-eyed.  Then his face cracked, he snickered and shoved Kyle's shoulder.  

The smile passed and the Ranger walked directly into the skull's mouth, side-stepping invisible figures while Kyle held back, face stuck on a stupid grin.  Inside the skull statue, the well was lipped by a low-wall around a hole in the ground.  A single bucket-rope descended into the well and the Ranger bent over to fish for it.  Kyle's grin dropped quickly.  Three figures flickered, effervescent, closing in behind him.  The Ranger saw them and reacted fast, spinning too quickly on his heel and toppling backwards into the well as he reached for his sword.

 Kyle jolted, scooping a spear up in hand and running, "Stan!"  

There was never a splash.  Just metal clacking and the rope pulling taut, splintering into bristles.  "I'm alright!" came an echoing call from deep in the darkness.  "I caught the rope, I'll be right up."

The clinking of armor indicated that Stan was climbing.  Kyle watched the rope fray with tension, splitting into strings until it was teetering towards snapping.  "Stop! You're gonna break the rope!" Kyle called down and, thinking fast, he drove the spear hard into the inside of the skull.  

"What are you doing?" the Ranger yelled.

"Just be still!"  Moving fast, Kyle searched the courtyard for another sturdy spear pole.  He found one and ran back, bracing it on the teeth of the statue.   

"Kyle?" Stan was calling, voice edging on fear.  "My Lord, don't get close to the well!  I can climb-"

"Just hold the rope!" Kyle stood with his feet braced on the well for stability.  He took hold of the rope and pulled until the fibers broke.  The Ranger and all his armor dropped on him suddenly and caught on the first pole.  Deep in the pit, Stan let out a yelp.  Kyle strained, using the pole as a pulley and dragging his end of the rope over the second pole.  He ducked under it and brought the rope back into the well; the pole snapped secure against the skull's teeth.  Kyle stood against the first pole, legs spread over the well as he pulled the rope easily through the pulley system.

When Kyle looked down between his legs, the Ranger was staring back, still clinging to the rope.  For a moment, he expected a deep declaration of gratitude, but Stan said, "Honestly, where  _did_ those underthings come from?"

Kyle dropped him a few feet.

...

The Ranger stopped in the disarming room to groom the horses and set out a bowl of water.  So, Kyle followed Volodar and Elaith deeper into the castle complex, up a spiraling staircase that seemed to go on and on forever until they reached the top.  The elves' hands magically lit with fire to illuminate the path as they moved ahead, swords drawn.  They ignited each torch on the wall until the Great Hall was brilliantly lit.  

It was...a sight.  

It should've been glorious, massive arching columns and a vaulted ceiling.  The walls were open to the air, letting moonlight in and giving a view of the moors beyond.  The sheer size of the hall was a feat of architectural ingenuity, but the place was wrecked- falling apart with age.  It kinda fucked up the splendor.

"Put them out!" the Ranger shouted as he came through the curtain from the stairs.  Volodar and Elaith flinched in unison and let Stan brush past them.  He was chewing something- which made Kyle distinctly aware of the hungry pit in his stomach.  "If you want to light a fire, pick a place with no windows."  He spit out whatever he was chewing and crushed it into the rubble with his boot.

Kyle considered walking over to see what it was, but the Ranger started lecturing the elves and he wanted no part of that.  

Instead, he stepped to the window ledge and looked out over the moors.  In the distance, he could make out the treeline of the forest and the silhouettes of buildings in the town they'd fled.  From the throne, the Dark Overlord would've been able to see all the Kingdoms of Zaron on a clear day- a view deserving of majestic movie music with like...violins and drums and shit.  Or maybe something creepy to fit the feeling of this place...scraping minor chords and a thousand eyes...watching.  

When Kyle was sure the elven guards had gone, he pushed his hood back.  The breeze was stronger up here and it ruffled his hair and pulled at his cloak.  If there was ever a place to sit and think in this creepy tower, this was it.  He leaned in the window frame.  

He could be dying in the real world at that very moment.  A coma was the most logical explanation.  Otherwise, this really was Zaron.  Not just a game, but the legit, real-deal, 100% kosher, magical land of Zaron.  Would it really be so crazy to think he'd fallen down a rabbit hole in Stark's Pond and come to a world of their childhood creation?

Yes.  Totally fucking nuts.

But, he couldn't shake the niggling thought.  Everything was detailed perfectly- he had the right number of fingers and the crick in his back felt pretty damn real.  It was hard to convince himself he was dreaming, but if this was the real deal, than all the dangers of this world were actual _real_ dangers....and there actually was a real world where Stan Marsh was grabbing his dick and whispering promises of  _later, m'lord_.  

Whatever that meant, Kyle's cock was very interested.   _Shit._

As if summoned by boner magic, the Ranger was suddenly behind Kyle, one hand in the crease of his neck.  

Kyle flinched.   _How the hell did Stan walk so quietly in those boots?_

"What you did with the rope- at the well...that was smart," he said quietly, squeezing Kyle's shoulder.

Kyle shrugged it off, "...Basic physics."

The Ranger's other hand joined the first and started massaging the muscle at the base of his neck.  It only was meant to be comforting- Kyle was glad for concealing robes.  "How're you feeling?" the Ranger said softly- voice more gentle than Kyle had heard yet.  "I'm sorry I prolonged our ride in Stoletry.  You must be sore."

There was a quick touch at Kyle's nape; _fuck_ _...Stan just kissed his neck._  

"I acted without your orders, but I beg- forgive me.  I didn't want us in a town where we might've been detected," Stan muttered, so close his words puffed hot air down Kyle's spine, "...not with you so disoriented."  

"It's fine."

Strong hands worked lower down Kyle's back, pressing and pushing deftly at the muscle through the layers of fabric, doing wonders for the aches until Kyle was leaning forward compliantly.  The touches happened so casually that Kyle figured this must be normal behavior, but when Stan reached around to unhook his cloak, he turned around, not missing the flicker of confusion on the Ranger's face as he pulled away.  

Kyle raised a brow...oh- _oh_ _..._

 _'Later'._   

"A-are Volodar and Elaith setting up downstairs?" Kyle diverted, glancing across the Great Hall, suddenly hyper-aware that they were alone.  

"Yes," the Ranger said, watching Kyle's face.  After a moment, he resumed rubbing Kyle's neck, unhooking the cloak and letting it drop to the floor.  He started at the buttons of the robes.  

Kyle fidgeted.  He really should put a stop to this.  Dreaming or not, he wasn't this Stan's Kyle.  Whoever the Ranger thought he was- and whoever that guy was to the Ranger- Kyle wasn't that guy.  But...Marshwalker already had the robe unbuttoned to his waist, one hand slipping inside while the other resumed the shoulder massage that had Kyle tilting his head outta the way- until Stan's mouth found the other side and he didn't know which side to give access.  All the pressing and caressing was making him relax into a familiar haze- like the Ranger knew exactly where to touch and kiss to have Kyle melting and he couldn't muster the energy to stop it.  The hand massaging his shoulder slid into curly hair and held tight enough halt Kyle's breath.  

If this was a fantasy, it wouldn't be the first to feature Kyle's old best friend.  If it was real- well, this wasn't _actually_ Stan Marsh, so was there really a problem?  Kyle thought this, and tried to justify letting it happen- because _fuck,_ but when the Ranger broke from his neck and leaned up to kiss his mouth, he flinched away immediately.  

It wasn't right.  He knew it wasn't right.

Stan stopped and his brows drew together.  Something in Kyle's expression had him backing off fast, fingers slipping out of his hair and his clothes.

"I'll go...um...check on them," Kyle said, voice rough, staring rigidly at his ex-best friend's discomfited expression- worn by a stranger.  

The Ranger dropped to bow.  "Yes, my Lord," he mumbled.  

Kyle pulled on his cloak and fled- stopping only to see what Marshwalker had spit into the rubble...it looked like a piece of gum.

...

Volodar and Elaith were well on their way to shit-faced.  

They had a reasonable fire going in the hearth of the Lord's chamber and had obviously decided to stop and reward themselves with cider, leaving the travel bags untouched in the corner, waiting to be unpacked.  The chamber was on the second floor, just over the disarming room so they'd be able to hear the horses if something disturbed them.  There were windows that opened to the inside of the tower for ventilation but none that were visible from the outside, so the elves had lit the torches on the wall.  

Kyle sat by the fire with the guards, decidedly  _not_ thinking about Stan's lips against his neck and how his voice had softened when they were alone.  The elves were already engaged in their own drunken banter- something about a centaur who was trying to be a sailor.  Kyle felt obliged to try and follow what they were saying- he'd chosen to come down here.  He grabbed a stick and poked at the fire absently.  

The Ranger joined them after a few minutes, setting a leather pouch in his lap.  Kyle had a flicker of excitement when he thought it might be food but Stan said, "Sire,I could use a shave," so it probably wasn't. "I'd do it myself, but...my hair's getting long as well and I've been meaning to ask someone-"

Volodar was already stumbling to his feet.  "I'll help'ya, sir."

The Ranger shifted away from the drunken elf, "Yeah- um..." he extended the pouch to Kyle with an imploring look and a glance at the door.  

Kyle got the hint.  

He wanted privacy.  He wanted to talk.  But, it was Kyle's decision.

Kyle wasn't an actor. Faking royalty would probably end with a sword through his chest, and maybe this was a dream, but Kyle wasn't sure enough to risk his life.  He needed guidance, protection- an ally.  It was time to talk.

"I don't trust your hand with a blade right now, Volodar," Kyle said, taking the pouch from the Ranger's hand with conviction.  "Besides," he lifted his chin, "someone must stand watch- and you two only count for half a man while drunk."  Kyle made his tone curt and disapproving.  He tried to be convincing, to talk in the haughty way he had in the game.  "Set yourselves up in the guardhouse. Alert us if you see anything."

"Aye, my Lord," Volodar bowed and staggered for his armor.  

"You too, Elaith," Kyle said.  "Keep each other awake and take turns standing watch.  Stanley will relieve you once he's rested."  

Two drunken elves gathered their armor and vacated the room, loud and clumsy; mildly entertaining to watch.  The cider had them happy and complacent, so they didn't protest their orders- though they'd be useless sentries. The Ranger had to help them suit up when they failed to help each other, and Kyle doubted they'd make it down the stairs.  They tumbled out, talking about cyclopses.  

As soon as the door closed, Kyle dropped his hood.  He grabbed a stool and set it by the fireplace.  He didn't mind cutting hair, but it felt more like he'd set himself up to be interrogated.  The Ranger had Stan's face and his height and his hair- which was already enough to put Kyle on edge, but he also was...bigger- like his presence was just...more.  Kyle's hands were jerky and quick as he unpacked the leather pouch and took inventory of the tools.  He always used an electric buzzer to help his ROTC roommate stay in regs, so he wasn't really sure how he'd do this with a bunch of knives.

The Ranger was wearing a friendly expression- the kind to ease Kyle's nerves, and he brought a pail of water, "Thank you for that, my Lord."

Kyle shrugged and gave a grin, "Did you actually want a hair cut or is that just the normal excuse to get me alone?"  It was a clever use of elven ignorance.  Volodar and Elaith wouldn't know that Stan didn't  _actually_ have to shave three times a day- he was just sneaking off for a quickie with the King.

The Ranger brought a second stool and straddled it, giving a weak laugh to Kyle's little jab. "It _has_ grown too long."

"It's shorter than the elves'," Kyle pointed out protectively.  The Ranger's hair was the same as Stan's had been at Stark's Pond- from the glances Kyle had been able to take without being noticed. 

The spring break reunion with Stan Marsh had been an adrenaline kick, not knowing whether they'd clash explosively or make things civil.  While at MIT, Kyle had been so desperate for information about what Stan was doing across the Charles, it was overwhelming to actually see him in person.  He just ended up with heartache when Stan pointedly ignored his existence.

"I'm a man of the King's guard," the Ranger said, his intensity cutting through Kyle's thoughts.  "I wear my hair short as a reflection of my preparedness to serve you.  If it gets too long and falls in my eyes, it may get in the way of that. _Nothing_ may get in the way."

Kyle dropped his eyes to the hair-trimming tools, fingers stuttering as he picked a razor and comb.  They didn't stop shaking as he turned the Ranger around and got started, separating pieces of hair and slicing them short.  He reminded himself that Marshwalker didn't have a mirror with him.  He wouldn't know if Kyle fucked up...and so what if he did?  Apparently Stan just needed his hair short to maintain some kind of psychotic devotion.

Black hair collected quickly on the floor and the shoulder-plates of Stan's armor.  As Kyle cut, the Ranger shaved himself, using cream from a corked bottle and a straight razor.  Time passed in silence until Marshwalker finished, "Kyle..." he said, sounding just like Stan Marsh.  Funny how hearing a name in a certain person's voice could feel like falling off a cliff.  "About what happened in the Great Hall, I-...I am so sorry.  I did not intend to push-"

"It's fine." 

The Ranger reached up and touched Kyle's hand.  "No-"

"Yeah."

"Sire, I had no place initiating anything unsolicited.  You had a difficult day and I took it upon myself to decide what was best to help you relax.  Simultaneously, I served my own self-interest.  I just pray that you can-"

"It's forgiven. Seriously. Shut up about it."  Kyle kept a firm grip on Stan's head, keeping him turned forward as he determinedly cut the back close to the skin.

The Ranger was quiet for a long moment.  "...I worry what will happen, m'Lord...now that you're...like this."

Kyle's hands froze.  He should really tell him.  It's what he had intended to talk about. "Stan- about that..."  He drifted off, trying to organize how to say this.  In the meantime, his hands finished the job, and set aside the razor.

Stan turned around, "Is it finished?"

"Oh...uh-yeah."

The Ranger ran his hands through the cropped crew cut and nodded in satisfaction.  It actually suited him.  

Before Kyle could bring up who he really was, Marshwalker was turning around on his stool and picking a straight razor.  "While we're alone, I need to shave you, Sire."  

Kyle touched his check and- well shit.  "...Right...elves...don't grow facial hair."  

Stan raised both brows.

If the Ranger was going to put a knife to his throat, maybe Kyle should wait to tell him he wasn't the King.  He scooted his stool closer, lifting his chin.  "Yeah, sure."

Marshwalker turned the shaving kit around and uncorked the bottle of cream.  "The Stick has an odd sense of humor," he said and Kyle knit his brow.  Stan reached up to hold his jaw, thumb brushing over rust-colored stubble.  "You got new human body with a few days worth of hair on your cheek," he smiled and wiped Kyle's face clean with a wet cloth before he tapped the cream out into his palm and lathered it on Kyle's jaw.  

The Ranger worked precisely and efficiently- never nicking skin once.  Unfortunately, he didn't work quietly.  "Shame you can't keep it, my King," he mused, drawing the razor up Kyle's neck.  "It felt nice on my tongue- the friction; I always wondered what my stubble must feel like inside your thighs and...other sensitive places..."  He smiled wistfully and finished off the last line of the shave.  Kyle shut his eyes tight.  The Ranger's voice lowered, falling serious, "If any good's to come of this, I'm afraid I'm the only one who will benefit..." 

"Hmmm?"

"Mortality," Marshwalker muttered, his tone darkening.  "What will your kingdom do without you?  Can you imagine?  Donnely in charge..."   

A heavy silence passed between them. Kyle opened his eyes.  "Oh, ah-" 

Marshwalker stopped him.  "Kyle..." he said again and his voice put a lump in Kyle's throat.  "Promise you didn't do this for me."

Kyle jolted back, shocked.  "I...I don't-"  Why would the Ranger worry that the King had become human _for_ him?Obviously the King was having sex with the Ranger- which wasn't that surprising- but...what was going on between them?  Kyle couldn't imagine giving up immortality if he had it, but...there had been a time he would've done _anything_ for Stan.

The Ranger leaned in, "Swear it... _please_ , m'Lord."

"I can't..." Kyle breathed.  

Stan's jaw clicked.  

"I don't know!" 

"You don't know?!" the Ranger's voice raised

"I can't answer for your King!  I've _told_ you, I'm not-"

The Ranger pushed to his feet, kicking his stool so hard that it smashed into the wall and stalking to the other side of the room.  Kyle flinched.  

"Stan, I've told you-"

"You're human!" the Ranger shouted.  "You're a fucking  _human!_  I've been trying to show you I still love you, but if you chose this for me, I swear-"

"-Love me..." Kyle's mouth went dry.

"-I'll leave!  I'll run back to the wolves and leave you to fix yourself-"

"-uh..."

"-I swear you'll never see me again- gods... _please_ just-..."

The Ranger seemed to be on the verge of a breakdown, shaking like a feral dog.   _What the hell?_ Kyle got up, feeling like his body was stuffed with cotton, and he approached carefully- Marshwalker still had his sword.  "Stan..." he said gently.  "Whatever happened to your King...I doubt he intended to leave you."

"I've gone along with it all!" the Ranger hissed.  "Every decision you make, I'm with you- I swore an oath, but...I can't let you- I _can't."_  His voice cracked and he was shaking his head at the floor, gritting his teeth.  

In their LARPing world, humans were _loathed_ in Larnion.  Drow Elves had spent over a thousand years at war with them and Stan had written the Ranger's backstory to reflect the brunt of a thousand years of prejudice.  The first half of a childhood spent alone in the woods with wild beasts that wanted to eat him- and the second in a civilized society that wanted to exterminate his entire species.  While they were playing the game, Stan hated the humans more than _anyone._

If the Ranger really was Stan Marsh's man... _f_ _uck._

"Stan," Kyle whispered, taking his face in both hands and forcing him to look up.  "Dude," he said firmly.  The Ranger's blue eyes were wild, but his attention was there.  "The King loves you.  He _loves_ you...but look," Kyle brushed his thumbs over Stan's newly-shaven jaw, trying to coax him to stop gritting his teeth, "Larnion comes first."  Kyle knew that was true.  His character had been an honorable King, duty-driven and beloved.

Marshwalker looked away but he stopped grinding his teeth.  

Kyle kept coaxing him.   _God, this was a fucking trip._   "No matter how much he wants to grow old with you- or whatever...he puts his duty first, right?  If that means watching you rot away while he stares down eternity, I know he'd do it- no matter how lonely it got."  Kyle gently cared a hand through Stan's short hair, comforting.  "I know he loves you more than _anything..._ but he's loyal to his people.  He'd never chose to leave them...even for you."  Kyle let his words sink in and slowly, Marshwalker came down from his hysteria, accepting the truth.  

Then, Stan's face loosened, mouth falling open and brow drawing together.  He grabbed Kyle's arms.  "You...recognized me at Stark's Pond," he said, "but all day you...you've talked about us like..." he swallowed, pulling Kyle's hands off his face, "like you don't remember being with me..."  

The Ranger was starting to accept that this Kyle wasn't quite right and it was like cresting over the edge of a roller coaster- the big drop.  Kyle wet his lips, "Because...I've never  _been_  with you, Stan."   _It shouldn't hurt to say that, but it still fucking did._

"...You've still not regained your memory?" the Ranger said suspiciously.  

"I told you. I never lost my memory," Kyle said.  He backed off to arms-length.

The Ranger just stared, face pinched in confusion.  

 _Here we go._  

"My name's Kyle Broflovski," he started.  

The Ranger's eyes narrowed to slits.  

"I'm from South Park and my dad's an attorney and my mother works from home.  I've been away at school for the past year- I'm home on spring break and...I think I'm probably in a coma," he explained, picking up speed.  "I know exactly what I was doing before this.  I know where I was and who I was with and I could tell you, but it wouldn't matter since this is all just some crazy dream-"

"Shut your mouth!" the Ranger cut him off.

And, nearly cut his throat.  

"Fuck!"

There was the sword.  It nicked Kyle's throat and he backed up- step after step until his shoulders hit the wall.  Pain was pretty fucking vivid for a dream.

"Be silent," Marshwalker hissed, voice gravelly and low and dangerous. This wasn't the pimple-faced, flannel-wearing, animal-activist-softie that Kyle knew in high school.  This was a battle-hardened, scar-ridden Ranger of the King's Guard.  He had killed with this sword.  

And, Kyle was impersonating his boyfriend.  He gulped.

"This is not a dream.  Never suggest that again," the Ranger went on, snarling.  "Larnion burned- my people- my friends died...thousands of them.  I had to hear their screams.  There was nothing we could do, and you make _light_ of it.  My King wouldn't claim delusion at a time like this..." 

"That's what I'm _saying_...I'm not your King," Kyle enunciated slowly, trying to tilt his neck away from the blade.  

The Ranger was silent, sword threatening, eyes expectant.

Kyle knew to start talking. "I'm human- I'm not from Zaron- nowhere near," he said.  "In my world, Zaron's just a game I played with my friends as a kid."

"A game."  The Ranger deadpanned, too incredulous to take offense.

"In my world, yes," Kyle said.

"A game."

"Yeah.  Everyone got to make up their own character. I played as the Elf King.  In reality, everyone's human.  We all go to human school and eat human food.  We grow up and work for the government- then we get old and eat Country Kitchen buffet and the government works for us.  Then we die."

Stan's brows were drawn tight, but the sword gave Kyle a bit of space. 

"You guys were trying to dispel magic or whatever, but we don't have any of that," Kyle went on. "Magic was just part of the game.  It's not real."

The Ranger considered this for a heavy moment, hand shifting on the hilt of his sword as cold blue eyes studied Kyle's face for signs of dishonesty.  "...And how did this game work?" he tested, pressing the sword back against Kyle's skin- just the flat of it so he could feel the cool metal.  

Kyle wet his lips, "It was a roleplaying game," he said.  "Like D&D- and we got the whole town to play along.  We all had classes and weapons and special attacks that did different levels of damage.  And, if we fought more opponents, we leveled up and got better attacks and stronger weapons."  Kyle shrugged, "Cartman was Game Master, so he kept the log of everyone's stories, but it was a rule that we all could design our own character and add to their history however we wanted."

"...Cartman?"

"He was the Wizard King-"

The blade pressed hard to Kyle's throat, "I know who he is.  You conspire with him?"

"No," Kyle grunted, head pressed to the wall, meeting Stan's eyes steadily.  "I just told you it's all a game for me.  He was my _character's_ mortal enemy...I mean- he was mine too, but not on the...same scale," he finished lamely.  Stan's eyes narrowed and Kyle fumbled on a new idea, "I'm not lying!  Look at me," he said.  " _Really_ look at me.  You know your King...you know I'm not him..."  

Stan did.  

He glared at Kyle for ages- until Kyle wanted to melt through the wall, and he couldn't believe he'd ever been capable of eye-contact.  Slowly- very slowly, the Ranger pulled back and lowered his sword.  Some part of him had probably realized from the start.  He'd acted suspicious all day, but everything finally clicked.  "Fuck!" he hissed.  "...This isn't the time for you to be here."  He sheathed the sword, flipping it up over his shoulder.

Kyle opened his mouth.

But, Marshwalker went on without prompting, "You'll lose the King his throne," he growled.  "Half of Larnion is destroyed; the other half questions his rule, and now _you_ appear."  A cold blue glare pinned Kyle back to the wall.  "Fucking Donnely's been leading a rebel faction, claiming King Kyle planned the howler invasion all along and now, without him here to destroy the walkers, he'll lose his throne," he explained.

Kyle shouldn't get invested.  But, the Ranger's frustration looked just like Stan's, and before logic took hold, instinct did, "How can I help?" 

The Ranger was stripping his armor with an angry sort of focus.  "There's not much you can do that my Lord would," he growled.  "He'd use his magic to retrieve the Stick.   _He'd_ duel the Wizard King and the Necromancer himself if it'd save the forest- you're human, right?  You're not even trained as a mage?"  He glared over at Kyle until Kyle had to shake his head in response.  "All _you_ can do is pretend," the Ranger detached his grieves. "Lucky you, the King doesn't have to actually fight in battle.  I'll keep your...condition...secret and you'll act my puppet."  He didn't sound pleased with the idea.  "Kyle tells me enough of his affairs that I can guide your orders...until my King finds a way to return to me."

Kyle was shaking his head before the Ranger had finished, "No..." he said, "no, I can't do that."

The Ranger tossed his sabatons into the growing pile of metal pieces.  "You just asked how to help."

"Yeah, but I can't...I'm a shitty actor and I'm not some otherkin asshole who can just convince himself he's an  _elf."_

"You're saying you won't help!" Stan accused.

"I'm saying I can't!"

"Can't?"

"Am  _incapable of!"_

The Ranger snarled at the concept, but it was clear that he'd get nothing from this human.  Even if they could convince the Drow Elves that this was their King, they'd never inspire confidence without the true King's magic.  A Kyle from some foreign land with no knowledge of magic was useless.  Stan's fists clenched, "Well, Kyle _Broflovski_ , has anyone ever told you you have the _worst_ timing!"

It was a rhetorical statement, but Kyle winced and nodded. 

The Ranger stalked off, jilted.  He unhooked his gorget, lifted it from his shoulders and chucked it at the wall, growling to himself.  It clanked loud and echoing.  

Kyle was unmoved by the hissy fit. "So, we go back to Stark's Pond and get the Stick," he said logically.  "You get your King back and I wake up in-"

"The Stick doesn't exist in our space and time!" the Ranger snarled, whirling back on Kyle.  

When Marshwalker saw the human's pinched lips, and rigid posture, he stopped and backed away.  No point in making the human shit himself.  Marshwalker continued preparing for bed, unbuckling his belt angrily pulling his tunic up over his head, revealing a built torso and planes of scar-ridden skin.  Kyle pretended not to watch him undress.  "After the war, we locked the Stick in a paradox enchantment in Stark's Pond," he explained, throwing the tunic aside.  "Only two people can reach it- my King...and the Grand Wizard.  It would take both of them to get it out."

"Then take me to him," Kyle said quickly, "the Grand Wizard."

The Ranger snorted, "You'd be killed at the gate."

"You'll protect me."

"Flattering...but I'm not _that_ good- besides, he'd never help you."

"He would!  He wants revenge on your King, right?" Kyle said. "Well, I'm not really the King, so knowing Cartman- he'll do anythingto get his Kyle back and have his revenge."  He shifted away from the wall, "From what you've said, if anyone has a chance at it, it's him..."

Stan's lips were pursed and his brow set like he was muling over the idea and it didn't sit well.  He grabbed his ruck pack and untied the rolled-up mat from the top, spreading it out over the wood floor panels, "No.  We're not doing that.  We're returning to Larnion and you will stand as the King."

"Why?!"

The Ranger glared.  "Because yours is a stupid idea."

"It's not a stupid idea," Kyle huffed.  "Better than me pretending to be a King."

"You pretending to be a King will protect you with thousands of well-trained, battle-hardened Elven warriors," the Ranger said coldly.  "You'd preserve Kyle's throne and lead the Elves strategically until the _real_ King returns. Tromping into Kupa Keep with your dull-ass ears on display will get you an arrow through the chest."  He violently tugged his cloak over himself like a blanket and started bunching his tunic up into a pillow.  "It'll be a public death- public and brutal and fucking humiliating.  Everyone in Zaron will hear how the 'Great High Elf King' was slaughtered begging for Cartman's help- and they'll hear how his Ranger couldn't protect him."  

"I wouldn't beg, and I didn't intend to go in undisguis-"

"It's not happening," Marshwalker gruffed, shoving the tunic under his neck.  "If that's how you wanna die, I should've left you by Stark's Pond, not breathing."  

The Ranger said it with such finality, Kyle was left fuming.  Marshwalker's plan left him no hope of getting himself home- it left him relying on a stranger...a stranger he'd made up when he was nine.  Kyle grabbed his own ruck pack and unrolled his bed roll on the other side of the chamber.  "I think my dick's not breathing. Do CPR on that, asshole," he muttered loud enough for Marshwalker's stupid fucking wolf-hearing.

Across the wood floor, the Ranger was already hugging his pillow under his neck, curling away from him. 

....

 

They came in the late hours of the early morning.  They came so quietly that Kyle didn't notice them any more than he had noticed the ghosts that drifted listlessly throughout the tower- just a periphery sense that something wasn't quite right.  Kyle didn't notice them at all until the Ranger was waking him up, calling out his name and dropping all his weight onto him.

Well- being dropped onto him...more like  _thrown_.

Kyle groaned and blinked blearily until his eyes rolled into place and the sleep cleared away.  He took everything in fast- the fire stamped down to embers, Volodar and Elaith unconscious and tied up beside the hearth, Marshwalker on top of him and bound up as well...two human figures in heavy cloaks, armed with swords and long bows, carrying away their traveling packs.

Kyle tried to push the Ranger off him only to find his hands bound up in the same uncomfortable way.  “You said this place was safe from men!” 

“These are not men!”


	6. Fuck Metaphors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The italic flashbacks are in chronological-order from here on. 
> 
> Triggers: neglect, homophobia, sexism, fatphobia, alcoholism, depression, mentions of suicide

The Ranger struggled in his bindings, flopped over Kyle so his writhing hiked the robes up his legs.  "...We're fucked."

When the intruders finished packing the Elves' bags onto their horses, they came back to the Lord's chamber and stripped-searched Volodar and Elaith, taking their armor and weapons.  Kyle couldn't get into a position to see either of them and they kept their purple hoods drawn around their faces, but he could tell they were small.  Whatever they were, they didn't  _seem_  frightening, but the Ranger had been on watch and now he was hog-tied on the floor, so they must've been something bad.

"The King's awake, your Honor!" one said- a  _girl?_

Kyle strained to lift his neck and- he'd _thought_ he recognized the blonde server in the tavern.  "Bebe?!"

She dropped into a formal curtsey, but her lips curved salaciously and she leaned to show off her cleavage.  The second intruder dropped her hood, and Kyle wasn't surprised to see Wendy now.  "Your Grace," she greeted, giving a (more) formal curtesy.  

"You were tailing us," Marshwalker accused, his mouth muffled on the wood floor so he sounded more whiny than intimidating.

"Since you left Larnion," Wendy confirmed.  "We rode to collect on our agreement and alas, saw...what happened...may I extend my condolences?"

For a second, the Ranger went still and Kyle regretted sleeping on his back.  Marshwalker's weight on him was all kinds of weird.  Apparently the girls had stripped his armor before they threw him onto Kyle.  He was hot like a goddamn space heater- and sweaty, soaking through Kyle's robes.  Fuck this place...and people who could say  _alas_.

"You may not," the Ranger growled.  "You ambush us, knock out my men, put an arrow through my side-" _shit, that was **not** sweat.  _ "And you expect what?  Access to the Stick?   You abandoned the alliance in the Second Rising. You have no right to it and you know that."  The Ranger flexed his back to lift his head and a surge of wet warmth washed onto Kyle's chest.  "You had _no_ intention in Larnion but to pillage the destruction-"

"I came for you, Stanley!" Wendy snapped.  Marshwalker's mouth shut with a click of teeth.  "I have an army, a kingdom; I came to have you."

Kyle rolled his eyes so hard his head hit the floor. "Fucking awesome, guys," he said sarcastically.  Stan and Wendy being assholes together was a universal constant.  Kyle would know.  This wasn't his first fantasy world experience. _But, in a world where Stan was sleeping with Kyle?_

“You made a promise to me, Elf," Wendy hissed, turning on the not-King.  "Once I had a Kingdom and an army- that was the deal.”

“Um...” 

Bebe stomped closer.  “Are you a two-faced bitch?  That’s what we’re asking here.” 

Kyle blinked.  “I don’t…what was the promise?”

“Stanley Marshwalker’s hand in marriage," Wendy said, and Kyle should've expected it, but he had  _not_.

“What?!” Stan jolted so hard he fell off Kyle onto the floor.  The movement pulled on the cloak, exposing Kyle's ears.

_Shit._

Everyone froze until Wendy slowly drew her sword and stepped closer. “Who the fuck are you?”

“A decoy,” Kyle lied. “A blacksmith’s son.”

“Bullshit. That _is_ the King," Bebe said.  "I know his face and…other bits.”  

“What…?” “What?!”  Kyle said- at the same time as Stan- somewhat less frantic, but feeling oddly violated.  They'd searched Volodar and Elaith extensively; but if they hadn't noticed his ears until now, he doubted they'd done him the same.  So, why the fuck was she talking about 'other bits'?  ...Unless she was just trying to make a point to Stan.  She'd seen the royal treasures- shined the King's staff.

Bebe approached to get a closer look at his rounded ears, tilting her head like they offended her. “What happened to your ears, Kyle?” and there was something off-kilter about her using his name.

“They grew like th-” Kyle started on a clipped response, but Stan cut in.  “-We sought the Stick to end magic in hopes of halting the walkers.”  His voice sounded hollow.   _Hurt_. 

Kyle's mouth fell open and he stared, but he didn't question Stan's honesty.  He was still pissed that Marshwalker was a stubborn asshole about asking Cartman for help, but his frustration softened in their current situation.  Stan was having a tough day.  His boyfriend had cheated on him, married him off without telling him, and ditched him with a human.  He was taking it pretty well, all things considered.

Bebe looked at the Ranger doubtfully.  “My magic is in tact…”

“Yes well…we failed."

Wendy looked at Kyle and quickly seemed to come to the same conclusion as Stan had- that the Stick had transformed the Elf to a human.  “So…you’ve no magic.”

“He has armies!” Marshwalker bristled at Wendy.

“Spread so thin they couldn’t raid a fisher village!  What kind of ally is that?!” she snapped.  "...Be glad he's enough the King to give me your hand.”

The Ranger was growling now- like actually _growling_.  Low and animalistic.  “You're lying, he wouldn’t-”

“I have his word-” Wendy dug in her purple cloak until she found an aged paper document.  She held it for both men to see.  A marriage contract, sealed with a wax blob emblazoned with the star of David.  Kyle recognized his own signature- capital letters and a flourish on the 'K'.   _Trippy._

“…no…” Stan breathed, “…Why?” his voice caught and cracked and took Kyle's heart down with it.  It had been a long time since Kyle had been close enough to Stan to hear him choking on emotion and he wanted to break his ropes and _hold_  him.  He wasn't the King that had signed Stan away, but it was his signature...and the guilt felt like his own.  

There was no fighting it.  No good King could rally his people to fight without telling them why, and the elves couldn't know the King was sleeping with his Ranger.  Kyle would never jeopardize Stan's life or the honor of the crown by making such an elicit relationship public- and breaking an oath to keep it.  Besides, the girls were former allies of the Elves; Wendy had been well-liked in the game.  She fought by Stan's side during the Final Battle.  The King had chosen her for a reason.  

And so she had chosen Stan.  If they were following the game, Kyle had an answer to the Ranger's question- why Wendy wanted his bloodline.  

Marshwalker was managing to crawl in his bindings, scooting towards Wendy's leg. “Why marry me?" he demanded, furious. "You never-”

Bebe smacked his jaw hard with the pole of her spear and he slumped.  “You are not King yet, boy.  Her Honor doesn’t need to explain _shit_ to you-”

Stan bled on the floor and groaned in pain and confusion.

 _Fuck- he_ _didn't know._

Wendy’s gaze met Kyle’s and her eyes narrowed in accusation.

Kyle knew why.  He shifted to push his back to the wall, hands bound in his lap.  “There’s something I’ve gotta tell you, Stan…”

...

 

* * *

_The Marshwalker child was...small._

_The Elf King had seen human children before.  But, was it healthy?  Would it be rude to ask what was wrong with him?_

_Lord Randal held his son's hand as he led him into the courtyard.  Both dressed in furs and cloaks, they bore the dark hair of the northerners and distinct blue eyes that spoke of magic lineage._ _Behind them, three dire wolves trailed- the symbol of the Marshwalker house; the pup- young like the boy, nudged the child to his feet when he tripped on the cobblestone._ _Kyle had arranged to meet the humans behind his castle in a temple of the old religion.  It was a secretive location with contact to the back staircase where the castle was perched in the trees._

_"Thank you for meeting me," Lord Marshwalker said, dropping to one knee._

_Kyle motioned for the human to rise._ _  
_

_Randal did so awkwardly.  "Your Grace, you're...the only one I could come to.  I hate to evoke treaties so outdated...but the Marshwalker name must be preserved._ _If there's any hope for peace between men and elves, it's with Stan."_

 _Kyle glanced at little_ _Stan Marshwalker, staring wide-eyed at fireflies. He remembered a party of elders traveling to see Stanley's birth two years ago, bringing stories to Larnion of the blue-eyed human child- a hope for peace.  Those elders were hung by their necks from the treeline bridges and Kyle dismissed their stories as hopeful delusion._

 _The Drow Elves didn't want peace. They wanted the Stick._ _Kyle himself didn't exactly share Randy Marshwalker's affinity for neutrality, but he knew the toll this war was taking on Zaron's magic. Fighting the humans used more of the commodity than nature could keep up with_ _\- and without magic, Elven glory would diminish into obscurity in the age of man, and man would destroy nature._ _E_ _ven if Kyle could get the Stick and keep it, he would need to make treaties with the humans- limitations on magic consumption.  King Gerald had once said, 'i_ _t's the responsibility of the King to plan for peace whilst waging war', and with the Marshwalkers ejected from their own land, the elves had a chance to exploit an old ally._

_"I understand," the King said.  "Stanley will have sanctuary in Larnion," he promised._

_But, Lord Randal's face soured._

_And, Kyle wet his lips. "_ _I...will raise him myself," he offered_ _, floundering to appease the human_ _. T_ _hree-thousand years old, the Elf King was young- barely beyond adolescence and unequipped to raise a child.  But, Lord Randal was not exaggerating when he said the Marshwalker name was the only hope.  Theirs was the only province that had refused to join Cartman's war on the elves and a Marshwalker would be the only human that a royal decree could protect in Larnion- Drow elves would murder any other, regardless of who forbade it.  If there was anything Kyle could do to restore the peace he had broken, he would do it...including raising this child- no matter how much his people might hate it.  "He may come live in the castle with-"_

_"No."_

_"No?"_

_"Yes- no."_

_"Yes?"_

_"No!" Randal pulled Stanley tight to his side. "I'm not asking you to take him in.  A child can't grow up among people that despise his kind..."  He looked down at his son, eyes beginning to swell with tears and Kyle couldn't muster sympathy for a human so he just felt awkward.  This man had lost everything, his lordship, his family, his home.  But, he was still a human and Kyle was still an elf.  "You cannot protect him here- he must not hate his humanity."_

_Kyle scoffed.  He had been at war with humans for a thousand years.  Now here was a man from a lineage that Kyle's parents had allied many generations before, making requests that didn't make sense. "If he doesn't live in the castle, how am I to-"_

_"He's a Marshwalker," Randy said, rudely interrupting the King, and Kyle had the urge to snap his neck.  "The forest will welcome him."_

_Kyle blanked for a moment before understanding Randy's words.  "That's madness!  If that was your intention, why did you bring him here?!"_

_"I just...need your promise- keep the forests in your reign, don't let your people poach him."_

_"My people are not the danger in the forest," Kyle said, growing angrier by the minute. "And you're in no position to deny me custody of your son-"_

_"I know, but you're a good man, Lord Kyle," Randal said calmly._ _"War has you hardened, but your heart is soft._ _You wouldn't expose a child to hatred..."_

 _The King tensed a_ _nd looked down to the boy in question, shocked when Stan was looking right back.  Caught, Stanley gave him a toothy smile, genuine and weightless, picking Kyle's heart up with it.  But, the King still didn't like this, "He's too young," he protested. "_ _Hated or not, in Larnion, he will at least live._ _He won't survive alone in the forest."_

_"He won't be alone," Randy assured, patting his leg; the dire wolves stepped to his heel.  "I'll be the first to admit that the wolves tend to him more often than I ever did..."  He tapped a finger to his temple, pointing to his distinct blue eyes, and Kyle quickly understood what magic was in the Marshwalker lineage- to see through an animal's eyes.  "Family gift," Randy said and he reached down to rub a wolf between its ears.  "Tall one's mine, and I think Stan's already got a connection to the pup."  He rubbed Stan's hair as well._

_Kyle wet his lips, surprised with himself. This foolish man truly believed his two-year old son could survive in a forest of monsters with just a few dogs.  And somehow, looking at this child with those old eyes, Kyle was inclined to believe it too.  "Can you control the beast from afar?" he nodded to the wolves._

_Randy nodded solemnly._

_And Kyle understood the gravity of what Lord Marshwalker was doing, sending his son away.  He understood why it was necessary after what had happened to their daughter.  And, he would help.  Because the Marshwalkers had been his ally.  Because Stan was innocent and deserved to stay that way. "Keep him between our lands," he ordered, and he gave little Stan a smile- a promise and a blessing.  "I will protect the forest.  It is his."_

_Randal Marshwalker bowed to the young King and gave his word._

_..._

_Kyle watched from the balcony of his castle in the trees as Stanley Marshwalker let go of his father's hand and walked into the woods._

_And, he disappeared for six years._

δ

  

* * *

Stan was playing  _Outlast_  on PS4 and trying to get drunk on vodka when Cartman waddled in and made himself at home.  "Horror games?  Don't come crawling into  _my_ bed when you freak yourself out and can't sleep," he plopped down onto Stan's bed so it nearly threw Stan off the other side.

Stan ignored his existence until the weight dipping the bed started pulling him in.  "What do you want?"

"To see my favorite little gaylord."  

"Fuck you."

Cartman pet Stan's hair like he was a dog, and Stan grabbed his Sprite bottle and gulped his camouflaged liquor.  He could feel Cartman's eyes on him, watching him drink suspiciously.  "I dunno what Oprah tells you, Stan, but I'm pretty sure that's called _relapsing_."

Stan tensed. "Sprite?"

"I thought you were done with that shit," Cartman said, and fuck fatass for sounding like _him._  

Kyle had always vented all his shit about Stan's drinking to fatass, so Cartman knew all his tricks and was a dick about it in Kyle's absence.  Stan knew it was his own damn fault for using the same tactic as high school- tinted soda bottles with hard liquor- but, this wasn't his addiction anymore and he didn't have to explain one little slip.

"I am."

Cartman gave him a patronizing look- the kind that put him on edge.  

"I don't drink at school!" he snapped, twisting the cap back onto his bottle.  "Just here."  Just in  _this town_.  

Cartman rolled his eyes, produced a bag of Cheesy Poofs from his ass-or something, and ate on Stan's bed.  He changed the subject fluently, "So, I took his-royal-nut-licker to tell Kahl's parents he's staying in Kinny's apartments for spring break."

Stan's pulse jumped and he sort of hated himself for it.  He needed to get used to hearing Kyle's name again.

"And, you'll never guess- he cried like a little bitch!"

"...Seriously?" Stan said, perturbed.  

"Yeah bruh- hugging all over them and sobbing like a little girl.  Apparently, in his world, they've been dead for like a thousand years so he was bawling his eyes out and it was scaring the shit outta them so they started sobbing too.  Man, it was beautiful.  Jew tears everywhere!" Cartman cackled, stuffing cheesy poofs in his mouth.

Stan stared.  "You are so full of love," he said.  "Or gas."

"Stan, I swear to you, it was like Jesus Christ and Mel Gibson were _personally_ on their knees _worshipping_ my balls.  I hadn't seen Kahl cry in like...two years-" he nodded reverently to Stan, "not since you fucked him up, of course." 

It was an offhanded remark, passed like a compliment, but Stan froze.  "...Since I fucked him up?" 

Cartman pinched his cheek.  "Yes. You beautiful little homosexual, you."

The _Outlast_  character screamed in agony as a psychotic mental patient ripped his torso off.  Stan's hands were frozen on the controller.   _Did Cartman mean?_ "...At the hospital?"

"What?" Cartman's brows drew together for a second, then, "Oh!  You mean after you tried to kill yourself?"  He waved a hand dismissively, "Nah, all you did then was piss him off- I could do that myself.  I'm talking- when he came to your house to like confess his undying love for you- or whatever- and you shot him down in cold blood- _genius."_   Cartman gave Stan an admiring gaze and Stan's mouth fell open.  “Faking friendship for seventeen years so he'd fall completely in love with you and you could tear it _all_ out from under him?  Brutality.  I’ve never made Kahl cry like that!  God, he was glorious- on the floor for  _three days._  I didn't know the Jew had it in'im- a total balls-out break-down.  Not many tears really, but the devastation was delicious. Dude wouldn't eat, wouldn't get up, kept mumbling about how he'd fucked up, _he_ _fucked everything up_." Cartman laughed, "Totally wrecked, all thanks to you, Stan."  He put an arm around Stan's shoulders and gave him a congratulatory shake. "Have I said I love you today?”

Stan couldn't get air into his lungs.

_Kyle had broken down?  He had been serious?_

_Shit-_  Stan's hands were shaking, and the tv screen had blurred.  He blinked, gripped the game controller hard, and played with single-minded focus.

Cartman was exaggerating. Kyle hadn't been heartbroken.  He wasn't capable of it.

Kyle had no fucking clue what love was. In high school, he garnered a reputation for romancing girls (and guys) into short, passionate relationships. He thought it was love every time. Dude got hung up on someone he admired and ran off, mowing love notes into lawns, singing in restaurants, setting off fireworks. He was full of showy romantic gestures, and when some poor fuck fell for it, he lavished them with attention like a proper boyfriend.  But, when it inevitably crashed and burned, Kyle never got hurt- angry, but never heartbroken. He subconsciously sent every romantic relationship into a kamikaze barrel roll, and he always managed to eject.

Stan knew Kyle wasn't shallow, but he couldn't help hating his love affairs, so he kept out of them. Some things were better to not think about. Like how Kyle had grown tall, lithe muscle and square shoulders, and he looked good with his hair up in a bun that should've looked fucking dumb. Stan could get hard just watching him change after football practice, and if he curled around him in his "sleep" when he spent the night, they fit together like goddamn silverware... It wasn't like Stan wanted to date him- Kyle didn't want that either.  What they had was _more_ than Kyle's misguided 80's-romcoms. They couldn't fuck it up with lawn ornamentation and a knack for getting dates horrifically killed. 

Stan wanted to dive deep with someone- go where the pressure could crush him.  Kyle wouldn't even hold his breath.

It would've been nice to believe that Kyle had taken the plunge. It just wasn't true. Senior year, Stan struggled with his 'demons' more than ever. Somehow, Kyle always made it worse, and they kept pissing each other off until they just...gave up.  Still, Stan loved Kyle helplessly, and when he disappeared into a wormhole at their homecoming game, Stan hit the floor.  He was scared of what he might do with no one to stop him, so he got professional help.  And, he got _better_.  He came out as not-so-straight, quit drinking, started talking to his parents. He even started dating Craig- which was weird, but whatever. Three months later, Kyle showed up at his door, beaten and tired after heroically dragging himself, Token, and the Denver Broncos out of an alternate reality filled with dinosaurs. He wanted Stan back- how they were before. Stan told him things had changed- that he was feeling better and it couldn't be the same. Kyle walked away blank-faced.  They started talking again easily- like speaking their native language. But there was tension- like a rope about to snap.

The 'love confession' came as the same cheap script that Kyle gave all his _t_ _rue loves._   And, it put Stan into free fall, betrayed and confused. He had trusted Kyle not risk him like the others- and not to lie to his face.  If he had said those things any other time, Stan could've believed it, but he knew that telling Kyle he'd gotten better without him was like taking a self-righteous child's comfort blanket.  Kyle had always drawn confidence and solace from the fact that Stan was in love with him.  Now that he thought he was at risk of losing that, he suddenly loved Stan back?  It was cruel, manipulative bullshit- an unbelievably  _shitty_  thing to do.  Stan thought he'd let Kyle down easy with his polite rejection- he'd wanted to punch him in the face.

"Fuck him."

"That's what  _I'm_ saying," Cartman said, stuffing Cheesy Poofs into his mouth.  Stan startled.  He hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud.  Maybe the alcohol was finally having an effect.  "I mean, you could've taken it all the way first, y'know? If you _really_ wanted to break him..."

"What," Stan said. 

"I mean, It's not like you object to cucumbers and back doors, so you should've fucked the Jew before you fucked him."

"What?"

"Y'know, a little part of me thinks you haven't been-"

"There is no little part of you," Stan said reflexively.

"-listening...ey!"

"Dude, what?  I wasn't listening."

"Fuck you.  Seriously."  Cartman adjusted himself to sit up on the bed, making the whole frame shake.  "I was saying- in hindsight, to make Kahl _really_ cry, you should've let him think you loved him back, fucked him a couple times,  _then_  cut him down- that would've messed him up for life."

Stan was silent, glaring at the screen.

"See- because with the way you've got it now- sure, Kahl's got trust issues.  But so what- he's not making any  _friends?_  Big deal.  He can complain about that for days on the phone- how _lonely_ it is, how he hasn't  _connected_ with anyone, but honestly, Jew got off easy.  See, apparently, since he was so wrapped up around you for so long, he doesn't remember how to make new friends or some bullshit."  Cartman pointed a poof at Stan.  "So, if you'd _fucked_ him, you could've ruined him for sex too.  Then he wouldn't be going out to get laid eith-"

"Get out," Stan smacked Cartman with his controller.  

He raised his hands, "Ey!  I'm on your side!"

"Out!" 

The door opened before Stan could hit Cartman again and they both froze.  The Elf stepped in, followed closely by Kenny.  "Your turn," the blond said, nudging the King into the room.

Stan stared and Cartman rolled off the bed, "The fuck, Kinny?  I thought you had him tonight."

"Got a date."

The King shifted into the room, holding the yellow notebook and scratching at the waist of his jeans like the denim bothered him.  Stan glared until the King noticed and startled.  He wasn't happy to see Kyle's face after hearing he'd cried and broken down about the rejection, but the vodka had Stan feeling changeable and he smirked at the King's reaction.   He had seen the elf interact with Kenny and Cartman.  He carried himself all regal and haughty until Stan came within sight, then he had the same tick Kyle had- bobbing on his heel.  The fact that Stan made the Elf King nervous was a fucking power trip.

"You're ditching me with the kid to see your mistress?" Cartman huffed.  

"I'm sorry, dear," Kenny said into his hood, touching Cartman's arm.  "I can't lie to you," he drew a deep breath. "I've repeatedly engaged in intercourse with Tiger Woods.  We care for one another deeply." 

Cartman smacked his arm.  "Which bitch is it?"  Kenny just narrowed his eyes which meant something to Cartman.  "Oh, she's a fucking sucubus!  That  _bitch!_ "

" _They_ have a name."

"We shall not speak her name in this house."

"It's my house, dipfuck."

"This is the third time in a row that you...with that conniving bitch, you..."  Cartman grabbed Kenny's shoulder like he'd been electrocuted.  "This isn’t just sex!  You've got feelings!  You  _like_ that she’s ambitious and conniving," he accused.  "You like that she’ll ruin someone's life if it serves her….oh my God."  His face blanked.  "You’re sleeping with _me_...an ugly chick version of me."

Kenny knocked Cartman's arm off, glaring through his hood.  "Shame. Your tits are bigger," he honked Cartman's moobs and slipped out the door, ditching them with the Elf King.  

Cartman slammed the door behind him.  

When fatass plopped back onto Stan's bed, Stan had turned a cold shoulder to Kyle's doppleganger and returned to his game.  

The King stayed by the door, pretending not to notice the tension by flipping through Cartman's book.  "Reading over your notes, I've noticed...many inconsistencies," he said conversationally.  "Your records speak of additional battles for the Stick of Truth- and...the illustrations are..." he cleared his throat and flipped the book open so the humans could see a poorly-rendered image of himself on his knees, felating the Grand Wizard's cock.  Cartman cackled and Stan rolled his eyes.  "The proportions are...highly exaggerated," the King said, scrutinizing the page in his hand and smirking, "See?  Your penis is visible."  

Stan snorted.  

"Poor drawing- doesn't do me justice, what're you saying about inconsistencies?" Cartman said quickly.  

"I'm saying that much of this information is incorrect," the King repeated.  "Your account is...somewhat accurate up to the point where we cast the Stick into the sea."  He flipped the old pages carefully to the point he was referencing, "But, while it is true that there was a second rising of the Stick when it washed ashore in the Capital, we dealt with it in accordance to our treaty."

"What're you talking about, Jew?" Cartman huffed.

The King lowered the book and gave him a warning look, but it was lost on Cartman.  "I'm talking about the alliance between men and elves that held for a decade before  _you_ broke it-"

"No!  I mean, what d'you mean the account is  _somewhat_ accurate?!" Cartman said and snatched the notebook away, practically growling over it protectively.  "My record is _perfect._ I wrote down every detail of our adventures."

The elf gave him Kyle's classic withering look, "Yes, and I _lived_ them," he said. "...Perhaps there's more to the record?  If i could see another book, I might reconcile fact from legend."

"No.  This is it.  This is all you get!"

Stan glanced up, agitated that they were doing this in his room.  "Hey, didn't we all text our characters' stories to you?  Maybe you saved it on your cell."  

Cartman narrowed his eyes and looked pointedly to the ceiling tapping his chin, "Ah...yes, you're right, Stan...but...whatever happened to that phone?  Hmm...what could've possibly happened to my beloved iPhone?  Oh  _yeah_ , you threw it in Stark's Pond!"

"...Oh."   _  
_

"So, feel free to pull up the King's life story on a cell phone you fucking destroyed."

"Dude, it's been like ten years."

"Ten years for my wounded heart to fester!"

"You got my dad kidnapped and brainwashed by skinheads," Stan deadpanned.  

"You threw my phone in a _lake!"_

Stan opened his mouth to snap that his idiot father had tried to kill him for two months because of him, but the King cut in, "What's a 'phone'?"

Stan and Cartman both stopped and turned to him.  They exchanged a look and Cartman fished in his pocket, pulled out his current iPhone, unlocked it, and tossed it over.  The King studied it for a long moment, turning it over in graceful fingers, tapping the screen experimentally.  "And it's...magic?" he guessed.

Cartman rolled his eyes.  "No-  _again_ , it's electronic- like TV.  Remember TV?" he said patronizingly, pointing to Stan's game.

The King nodded slowly.  The Princess had explained the  _televisionary_ to him- _"_ TV" for short.  A place where people lived out their lives for other people to view their stories.  Studying the 'phone', a theory came to him.  He held the iPhone up between two fingers, "...So, you recorded my world's history in one of these 'phones'...and threw it into Stark's Pond."  He looked to the humans, "The place where I entered into your world...where a portal opened to Zaron..."

Stan and Cartman both stopped again and froze; silence broken when the character in  _Outlast_  screamed through a machete in the gut.  They stared at the King and he stared back, brows raised expectantly.  

...

Coats were pulled on hastily, shoes tied and car keys collected.  The streets were empty after the dinnertime rush, so the road was open for inadvisable speeding.  The King tried to hold Stan's hand through Cartman's reckless driving- still frightened by the concept of cars and their demonic powers and noises.  Stan swatted him off and punched his leg.  

"If this is a dead-end, you've still gotta keep up the act," Cartman warned.  "While you're here- you're Kyle Broflovski."  The King glared into the rearview mirror. "This lie is your baby- hard work, and your future depends on it." Cartman pulled into the grass by the church and parked the car.  

The King got out first, and Stan leaned forward to the driver's seat and patted Cartman's shoulder.  "We'll check it out, you can stay here."

Cartman narrowed his eyes.  "You want some alone time with your ex-boyfriend?" he sneered.

"I don't wanna deal with your fat ass bobbing to the surface every two seconds while we're searching."

"Man, fuck you," Cartman flicked Stan off.  "I don't wanna get all soaked in shit anyway."

"Great," Stan said, shutting the car door. He jogged to catch up to Kyle, feet squishing in the soggy grass where the snow had melted.  "Hey," he said, grabbing the elf's shoulder.  "What was all that about with Cartman?"

The King tensed, "I believe he is afraid I'll reveal...myself," he took off Kyle's hat and his ears sprung free.  "I wanted to tell them...my parents," he admitted, "I wanted to remove this hat, but he stopped me.  They wouldn't have recognized me anyway- he was right.  They're not really _my_  family.  It was strange, seeing how this other...self lives here.  The fat one explained a lot to me.  Cartman has been very...helpful," his face scrunched in distaste.

Stan pushed past him and shrugged out of his shirt, "Yeah...it's weird."  He hung it up on a tree limb and started shucking his pants. "That he wants to help you, I mean. It's crazy, even for him."  Stan already had a dozen theories bobbing in his head of how the switch had happened.  They grew increasingly impossible...and increasingly irreversible.  There was always the King's favorite theory- that the  _Stick of Truth_ had transported him here when he wished for a world without magic.  Stan wasn't considering that theory- it meant Kyle was on his own- there was nothing he could do.

"Yes. Madness," the King said sarcastically. "Why would anyone want to help a friend who's lost far from home?"  

 _Wow_  he sounded like Kyle _._ Stan rolled his eyes and hung his pants up."Whatever. Let's just get started. We're not gonna find shit down there anyway."

The water was colder than the night Kyle disappeared. Stan shivered his way in to his waist, strapped on goggles, and dunked his head. He came back up gasping and cold. The King seemed to be having a more difficult time adjusting, hugging his chest and inching deeper.  Stan smirked-  _what a pansy_ , and went under, swimming to the center of the pond and going down to search the muck. He must've dove a dozen times and found nothing.  It was about twenty feet deep and clear enough that curtains of daylight just barely reached the bottom.  Stan could cover maybe ten feet of the muck before he had to go up for air.  If Cartman's phone was still down here, it shouldn't be too deep in the muck- Stark's Pond didn't get enough action to bury anything in sediment.  Eventually, Kyle met him in the center and he directed him to search the other side of the pond.  The Elf disappeared under the water.  When he didn't come back up, Stan got tired of waiting and dove back down, swimming to his side of the pond and seeking him out and... _holy shit_.

Covered in muck, on the far side of the pond, there was a massive, submerged...boat?  Plane?  Imperial TIE Fighter?  It was some large dome of glass attached to a wide base. A ship.  Kyle had wiped a streak of the glass clear with his arm...and was waving from the inside.  

Stan urgently needed to breathe, so he made the quick decision to swim under the ship, find the hole the King had entered through, and join him inside.  Apparently the ship had air.  But, as he swam under the hull and found the entry point underneath, something caught the elastic of his shorts and tugged him back under, electrocuting the water.  He had enough time to break the surface into the ship and gasp.  It was an eye that caught him- a huge robotic eye, blinking at him and twitching, shorting out and jolting with bright electricity.  Stan grabbed at the metal hull of the ship, trying to find the opening again.  

There was a splash, a surge of bubbles and two strong arms grabbing his hips and pulling.  Stan's goggles had fogged, and in his blindness, he grabbed at the UFO- because that's what it was: an alien ship- and he hauled himself inside, spluttering and climbing to his feet.  Behind him, the King was standing up.

"Visitors!" Stan gasped, turning to Kyle.  "Visitors!  Oh my God-" Kyle was staring.  Stan looked down, "... _shit!"_    That was Stan's dick- out in the open.  He covered himself, cupping his hands over his crotch and stumbling to glass.  His boxers were waving in the water just below the glass like they were taunting him, finally free. 

"I am- so sorry!" Kyle said, "I didn't intend to embar-" 

"Fuck you!" 

Kyle stepped closer, arms raised conciliatorily. "It's alright, Stan!  Nothing I have not seen-"

"Dude!"  Stan scrambled to the other side of the UFO cockpit, searching for something to cover himself.  He wasn't normally embarrassed being nude. He had a pretty nice dick and enough muscle to get by, but the fact that this was Kyle and he had seen a different version of him naked- touched that other Stan...handled the other Stan's dick and made him come.  It didn't help that Kyle was reminding him about that fact.  It was weird.  "You fucking pervert," he spat.  "You couldn't get me out without stripping me?  You wanted to what- compare me to your boy toy?"

"No! I-"

"Did you even  _try_ to detach me from the ship?  You  _had_ to detach my shorts?" Stan finally found a supply hatch with...weird alien clothes.  Good enough.  He started pulling the pants on, "Sorry, too fast?  Did you get your comparison?" he said bitterly, teasing the waist of the stretchy pants just under his hip like he might take them off upon request- just to be an asshole.

"I'm not a pervert," the King huffed.

"Right," Stan said, fiddling with the new pants. "Your boyfriend's just- what?  A hundredth your age?  Not cradle-robbing or anything. _You're_ not a pedophile."

The King's fists clenched and his whole body went rigid.  

But, Stan wasn't done. "And, it's not like you're in a position of power- not like his loyalty is compulsory and he might feel an obligation to please you," he said.  "Do you ever order him around in bed?  You into that?  Did you have to order him to fuck you?"

Kyle  _charged,_ punching Stan in the face so hard he spun on his feet, hit the ground, and promptly blacked out.

... 

 _"Why are you like this?"_ A voice was muffled as Stan came back to bleary consciousness.  _Kyle._ "What did I do to you?" he was saying. The King.  "What's your problem with me?" he was holding Stan's hands above his head to the murky glass.  

Stan didn't quite have enough saliva to spit in his face, so he pulled at his wrists.  "Let go," he demanded.  

"No."

Stan stared.  Kyle stared.  They hit an impasse.  Stan knew the King wanted him to explain why he was being an asshole.  He couldn't, so he glared until it was awful- seeing that face.  "Oh, this is  _so_ you," he rolled his eyes, "Well- not  _you-_ him...it's so fucking  _Kyle."_ He tried to slip his hands free and glared at the King's confused expression.  "Doing this- cornering me like this."

"I'm not cornering you," the elf said.  

Stan just raised his brows and looked pointedly to the two walls at his sides with his back pressed between them.  

After a moment, Kyle's hands loosened and he backed away on his knees.  "Well, I found this," he said, lifting a muddy rectangular...cell phone.

Stan grabbed it, "Holy shit...it's been down here all this time..."

"It was attached to that...object...that was shocking you- sort of...absorbed into it."

Stan silently turned the phone over in his hand.  It was ancient, totally waterlogged and useless, cracked open in the middle where a few wires from the alien device were still hooked inside it- like the eye had been...cannibalizing it.  Somewhere in the recesses of Stan's memory he could remember that eye-device, like he'd been seeing it all his life and never noticed.  Now one was down here with this alien spaceship, absorbing Cartman's iPhone.  Maybe the King was onto something here.

Stan looked up and realized Kyle was staring at him, hands folded in his lap. "...You hate me." he said, making that face- with the sad eyes.

"Ah," Stan groaned, compiling 'guilt tripping' onto the King's similarities to Kyle, "...no I don't."

"Then you hate who I appear to be."

That was harder to answer. Stan's pride demanded he lie, because the truth was: he wasn't equipped to hate Kyle.  It wasn't in his blood and bones.  He could sooner eat himself inside out.  But, he wasn't here to lie either.  "...No."

The King was studying him, dark eyes pensive and piercing.  Stan felt sliced open- the elf could see it.   _He knew_.  "It's odd for me, hearing that you two are...not..." he waved his hand between them. 

"Fucking?" he supplied. "Like you and your Stan."

Kyle's face scrunched, "We're more than fucking, who do you think I am?"

"Kyle," Stan deadpanned. That's what Kyle Broflovski did at school according to Cartman. Got laid. _Fucked._   Stan let the back of his head lean on the wall and he looked at the King.  "In your world- we're... _more_?"

"He is the most important thing to ever happen to me." 

Stan's brows shot up, detecting romantic bullshit.  "Okay, tone it down a bit.  What are you saying?"

"I'm attempting to convey how much he has changed my life..." Kyle said seriously.  "He...is my true friend, my confidant and partner..."  When all this earned from Stan was a bored look, the King went on.  "In my position, the decisions I make carry weight.  I send people to victory or death and those consequences are my responsibility to bare.  Before Stan, I combated my guilt with apathy.  I ignored the sorrow, regret, anger and frustration, and chose to feel nothing.  It made for an empty existence and Stan- he,"  he shrugged, "he wouldn't allow it."

"What does that mean?"

"He brought me to talking matters through.  He questioned his orders."

"And you _liked_ that?" Stan couldn't imagine Kyle enjoying backtalk- but then again, he was BFFs with Cartman...

"Of course not- at first," the King admitted.  "There's discipline in my military; it was my instinct to demote him, but I needed to give him experience in leadership- besides, he never questioned orders publicly.  He waited to talk in private and I could respect that- he wasn't calling for attention, he genuinely cared about his tactics, and together we often improved my plans.  In time, I grew accustomed to his questioning...and he grew more wily in his asking.  He gained more from each conversation until he had me sharing how I _felt_ about my strategies."

Stan snorted.  He could imagine the King having a feelings jam with the Ranger about attacking the humans.  What a dick.

The King rolled his eyes.  "It was liberating," he said defensively. "By talking to him before I gave orders, he could weigh in on my plans and discuss how I would feel in the aftermath.  He'd help me justify the hard decisions, and he told me honestly when he disagreed with my choices.  He actually  _cared_  that I held myself responsible for my people's deaths.  If there were plans that I wasn't comfortable with, orders that I didn't want to give, he made those decisions for me.  He...shouldered some of the weight and..." Kyle's expression softened fondly, "no one ever did that for me before."

"You didn't have advisors?"

"None that were as...comforting as he," Kyle admitted.  "He could get into my head and really understand how I thought.  I've met mind-readers and psychics, but it wasn't as such.  He found his way there slowly, by actually getting to know me, and I let him in piece by piece."

"By talking?"

"Yes."

"Honestly?"

"...Yes?" the King straightened up.

"About him?"

The King tensed.

Stan narrowed his eyes.  "You still haven't told him the truth..." he accused.

The King's lips thinned.

Stan knew his own character's story.  He and Kyle had struggled to make it work when Stan's dad had wanted to play the game with them.  Randy wanted to be the king of the humans, but Cartman had already claimed Kupa Keep as the capital of the seven kingdoms of men.  So, Stan and Kyle made an elaborate backstory to explain the lack of a kingdom in Marsh's backyard.  Stan knew all the secrets that Kyle's character kept to _protect_ his character, but he was furious that it really was happening that way in Zaron. "So then, what? You're fucking him, but you haven't told him who he really is?” he said, voice raising.

"He's not ready-"

"Bullshit!" Stan snapped and he pushed up from the wall and got to his feet. "You haven't told him you knew his father...you _let_ him get abandoned in the woods!  Has he even met his parents? Does he know they’re alive?”

Kyle stood up as well, "If I told him he would-"

"Yes he fucking would!" Stan shoved him.  "He'd want to meet his parents!  This is unbelievable!"  He paced away from the King, unable to look at him. He knew what the Elf King was doing with the Ranger and it was fucking cruel, "You're still raising him to rule..."

“It’s not like that-”

"Then what's it like?  Tell me," Stan growled, but he didn't give the King a chance. "Does Wendy know her promised husband's in love with you?"  

"I..." the King faltered.  "I had planned to seek her out after the war and annul the contract, but the Stick washed ashore and everything was so hectic..."

Stan's mouth fell open.  The King was hugging his own chest, staring at the ground with a deep frown.  "You should've told him," Stan said coldly.  

"I needed him with me- he would've rode out immediately-"

"And, you were scared he wouldn't come back."

The King's mouth shut, his jaw clicking.  His arms tightened just a little and he stepped to the gaping hole in the floor of the spaceship.  He dropped to his knees and stared at the water, eyes haunted.  His voice was tight and quiet when he spoke.  "...yes."  

Stan followed him and stood over him.  "You might think you're protecting him, but you're not," he said.  "Not anymore.  He's an adult, he needs to know."  He looked down at the broken phone in his hand.  Wherever Kyle Broflovski was right now, Stan hoped he had found Stanley Marshwalker.  He hoped his Kyle told him the truth.  “...He’s heir to the throne of the Seven Kingdoms.”


	7. Son of a B-Bi-B-B...Bitch!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is now part of a series. My lovely beta is writing the standalone prequel, "Ambiguous Asshole and the Cynicidal Closet-case".  
> Songs: "A Local Man" Patch and the Giant
> 
> Triggers: gore, fatphobia, acephobia, weird dreams, sexual content

_When Stanley Marshwalker returned to Larnion, the forest had taken its toll.  He was propped on horseback in the Elven King’s lap, head lolling deliriously against his chest, skin pale and covered in dark legions.  Kyle had attempted to heal the child himself, but Stan was too ill and he remained feverish._

_The King had informed his subjects of Stanley's sanctuary in the forest, but no one had seen the child since he'd disappeared.  Rumors flew of the King's intentions with the child, but over all the talking, one thing was obvious- no one believed Stanley was still alive._ _Kyle had made no assumptions; he was bound to his promise to leave Stan to the forest.  It was best not to place emotional value on what he couldn't control.  Still, it had been a rush of relief when, during a trip to the Coves to supply Ike’s fleet, his travelling party was attacked by arcomantulas and none other than Stan Marshwalker burst from the trees and slayed the giant spiders with….a sword...and he knew how to use it- like a girl._

_Stan’s attack had scattered the spiders, and for a moment after the fray, he had frozen, staring at Kyle with feral eyes and a glint of recognition.  His sword was obviously forged by the Valkyrie. The girls had trained him to fight.  Kyle intended to learn why, but Stan had retreated into the trees before the King’s guards could pursue._

_After Ike’s supply run, Kyle had taken a party of warriors to find the web complex and flush out the infestation.  They fought hard and lost two elves, but all the spiders had been slain and the bodies of their prey were collected: a few men, some livestock, an elven merchant, two dire wolves…and a blue-eyed child._

_Judging from the progression of the venom, Stan had been hanging in the spiders’ web since the day he’d saved Kyle’s travelling party.  Arcomantulas preferred to devour their prey alive, wrapping them up and drinking from them for several moons as their venom slowed the body’s processes to a state of suspended death.  The nest must have hunted Stan by scent, territorial and vengeful._

_Kyle stopped his horse on the landing outside the castle complex.  He gathered Stan’s small body up into his arms, leaping down from the horse and sprinting for the castle physician.  Stan’s blue eyes had taken on a yellowish tinge and rolled back into his head.  Once Kyle brought the child in to the healer, the old elf wiped his hand over Stan’s face where blackening veins were visible through his skin.  The color of the pallor meant something to the physician; he got up from his examining chair and scurried to a cabinet to find the suitable potion._

_Kyle didn't wait for Stan to wake.  Once he was sure the child would live, he rode out to find the Leader of the Girls.  He had a few questions.  And a proposition._

...

* * *

Wendy decided that they had already wasted too much time in the Dark Overlord's Fortress. Marshwalker's history lesson could wait until the journey was underway.

Impatient for answers, the Ranger didn’t like this, but all his complaints earned was a gag between his teeth.  Wendy lifted him from the floor and Bebe took Kyle, and they herded them down the stairs to the disarming room.  Kyle made the mistake of protesting the rough way they threw the Ranger onto his horse, and Bebe smacked him with the blunt end of her spear.  Stan shouted furiously into his gag.  Maybe it was the spinning in his head, but Kyle thought the girls were a littler gentler when they lifted him and tied him to Elaith’s horse. 

The elven guards would have to share one horse back to Larnion, and they'd carry the news of the King's kidnap.  Kyle had grown to like the guards- they didn't deserve the shame of having this happen under their watch.

"You don't have to keep us tied up, we're not fighting you," Kyle huffed.

Bebe attached a guide to the boys' horses.  Under dark eye-liner, she gave a familiar, sympathetic look- the kind her human counterpart would give when she was Kyle's friend.  "It's not personal, your Highness," she assured.  "It's about agency.  We cannot allow a man to enter the realm of the goddess unless he's our prisoner."  She smiled and tied a gag around Kyle's mouth as well, effectively shutting him up.  Wendy packed all the weapons into the front of the caravan, far from the boys.

As they rode out to the pavilion, dawn was starting to illuminate the pieces of the bone and petrified flesh that were strewn about.  In the morbid setting, Kyle was thinking about mortality- death and time and the uncertainty of everything that was happening.  He hadn't taken a steady breath since Marshwalker had stopped pushing air into his lungs, and even that hadn't been meant for him.  It was obvious that no one would be helping him get home or wake up.  They already had their objectives.

Kyle needed a plan.  He needed move towards his own goal- getting to the Stick.  But, his list of resources was...disconcertingly short.  He still trusted Stan intrinsically- which was stupid because the Ranger had been holding a fucking sword to his throat a few hours ago.  But, Kyle was irreversibly hardwired to put faith in that face.  The only thing he could consciously rely on was his own intuition- which, considering he wasn't even sure if this was a dream or reality, was shaky at best.  With the state of decay here- the age of these skeletons, Kyle already knew something was wrong with his perception.  

Stan Marshwalker didn't look a day over twenty, but he had to be older. 

The skeletons looked like they could be a decade old.  But, if Marshwalker had been a young man during the Final Battle, ten years ago, he should be like thirty years old.

Kyle craned his neck as if he could compare the Ranger to the Stan Marsh he remembered.  Under a few prominent scars and some black bruises, it was still a familiar face- a little worn, hungrier in the eyes- but with the same sweet boyishness Kyle had grown up with.  Unfortunately, even if Kyle saw signs of aging (which he didn't), he couldn't know if it was exclusive to this Stan.  Kyle hadn't been around to see how his old best friend had changed over the past few years.  He couldn't really know what Stan  _should_  look like anymore...but _God, it still felt like he did_. 

There was a sudden lump in Kyle's throat, and Marshwalker stared back, brows raised in confusion.  Kyle looked away fast and dropped into his saddle, gulping.  Maybe humans aged slower in Zaron or time didn't pass as quickly.  Wendy and Bebe looked the same as always, but they hadn't been mortals in the game, so that gave no hints.  There was still the easy answer: coma dream.

They rode away from the Dark Overlord's tower and back through the moors, towards the woods.

They rode east.  Or at least, they rode towards the rising sun, so Kyle guessed it was east.  

He kept trying to consolidate this world with what he knew- even though things had changed.  

As the day wore on, the sun beat down hot.  Strapped over the horse's back, sweat ran down Kyle's thick hair, into his eyes and mouth.  His stomach rumbled in hunger and his arms started tingling with paresthesia.  Shifting them restlessly did nothing to wake them up, but he didn't complain.  He couldn't draw attention to himself and be questioned by the girls; it would be dangerous if they realized he didn't have the Elven King's memories- or his strength.  The last thing he wanted was Larnion to get invaded and conquered on his account.  

If the guy actually existed, he should probably try not to screw his other self over.

But, with the pace they were riding, his exhaustion, his hunger, the heat, and the lack of blood flow, Kyle's consciousness was slipping.  By the time the sun had reached its peak, he gave a weak warning- a low rasping noise that was supposed to be words, but didn't quite make the cut.

It got Marshwalker's attention, and Kyle dimly registered Stan shouting into the cloth that was stuffed between his teeth.  

_"Take a left up here."_

_Kyle unpeeled his face from the window, eyes rolling as he tried to focus them.  With no driver, the car drove itself through a snowman and parked in Kyle's front yard._

_In the backseat, sitting beside him, Abraham Lincoln was opening his door. "Come along," he said, so Kyle stepped out, bare feet crunching in the snow. His childhood home. He felt like he shouldn't be here. For one thing, the door was missing- just a forbidding wall of green siding. "An honest man doesn't leave his business unfinished," the president said sagely. "You're still angry. It's time for your fight." Kyle didn't know what he meant, but he followed Abe's lead around the house and into the backyard. The grass and fence were replaced with a bustling marketplace with street-performing acrobats that looked like Token and Craig and a blacksmith booth where Bebe was hammering on an anvil._

_"I'm supposed to have a fight here?" Kyle tried to turn his head to look for Abe, but his neck was stuck and Cartman stepped up to him, waddling exaggeratedly in a sumo wrestler's outfit. Abe was gone, and Cartman didn't say anything, so Kyle said, "Am I gonna fight you?" It made sense._

_"Him."  Cartman corrected, pointing to a huge fight-cage in the middle of the market where a guy in a clown wig and a white wrestling mask was stepping up onto the stage.  "He's no match.  Just take the mask off and kiss him.  That'll take him down."_

_For whatever reason, that made perfect sense, so Kyle obediently stepped to the cage in a few long strides._ _Dressed in a office suit, he felt like he should have shoes on, but they were painfully absent and he was suddenly scared that his opponent would step on his feet.  The wrestler was dressed in a similar mundane grey suit with a little name tag pinned over his breast pocket, reading: Bernie Sanders: Accountant, and Kyle started laughing.  Accountant- how boring._

_The clown-hair wrestler threw the first punch, assuming a boxing stance- contrary to what his wrestling mask implied.  Kyle didn't feel the hit.  It absorbed into his ribs, pushing through his skin like ballistic jelly, and while the other man was stuck with an arm in Kyle's chest, he grabbed for the red afro wig.  It looked offensively similar to Kyle's own frizzy hair, and when he got ahold of it, the mask came off with it..._

_"...Stan?"_

_The next punch came from within, Stan's fist suddenly clenched around his heart. Kyle gasped, eyes flashing open._

"No..." A careful hand wiped a damp cloth over Kyle's cheek, and another touched his chest where his heart still pounded in fear.  "But, he's here, your Grace.  He's safe..."  It was Wendy, kneeling over him and wetting his skin to keep him awake.  Kyle was propped against a tree, and she was still wearing her cloak and Valkyrie armor, so fuck, this was still Zaron.  

Breathing heavy, Kyle searched his surroundings, seeking out the Ranger who was off his horse, still bound but un-gagged, struggling against Bebe to push closer and see his King's doppleganger.  "He's ill; he needs rest!"   

Wendy drew Kyle's bleary attention back, tilting his face towards her. "I hadn't wanted to stop, but your pet Prince kept shouting when you cried out in your sleep," she said, searching Kyle's face with concern.  He must look terrible because he sure as hell felt it.  "How are you really?  What do you need?"

The answer to that was probably glucose tablets, but Kyle doubted they were in supply.  This was a world of potions and spells, not medicine, so he'd have to control his blood sugar himself.  And right now, it was dangerously low.  He wasn't shaking yet, so it hadn't progressed, but considering how fucking weird his dreams were, insulin shock and a diabetic coma were becoming very real threats.  "Candy...or beer," he said, "and bread...need bread."

"You're hungry," Wendy moved to stand up.  "We have some meat preserves-" 

"No. Sugar. Need sugar."  Drinking on an empty stomach and skipping two meals- Kyle knew his mistakes and he knew how to fix them.  

Wendy seemed confused, but she took one look at Kyle's unfocused eyes and didn't question it.  She grabbed his arms and pulled him upright, draping his limp frame over her shoulder.  "We're riding to the Giggling Donkey," she ordered.  

Bebe had a hand shoved to the Ranger's chest, and she turned in surprise.  "Your Honor, the wedding is expected to-"

"We're stopping," Wendy said firmly, guiding Kyle forward.  "It's a day and night's ride.  Even if we let them take rest, we can wash up on the road, arrive on time and hold the ceremony upon arrival."  She stepped closer to her blonde warrior, dragging Kyle in tow, and she grabbed Bebe's head, touching their foreheads together intimately.  "We'll just have one more night on the road together."  

Bebe still hesitated.  "Are you sure the Giggling Donkey is the safest place?" 

Wendy gave a wry smirk, "Tavern rules are to leave your business at the door.  No one will bother us there, and it's all outlaws and seedy entertainers...who would they report to?"

"You're right.  We can handle it."  Bebe returned the smile and gently kissed Wendy's lips. 

The Ranger didn't seem to give a fuck about the lesbian action going down beside him with his future wife and her girlfriend.  He was too concerned with Kyle's pale face and worrying his own lip between his teeth.  He looked like he wanted to break his ropes and carry Kyle to safety himself, so Kyle gave a shaky smile and aimed for reassuring, even if he felt like shit. 

The Giggling Donkey was a short ways on the beaten path.  Wendy had been careful to avoid roads, but she deviated from the cover of the woods and led the horses into the traveler's village where the famous tavern was nestled.  The thatch-roof houses and accompanying waterway made it look like Riverwood in  _Skyrim._  Kyle was glad his thoughts were still sharp enough to make the connection.  Bebe had untied his hands- Stan's as well- but he was having trouble keeping upright on his horse, even at a walking pace.

They couldn't arrive fast enough, and as soon as the horse stopped, Kyle fell forward against her neck.  His vision spun as strong arms helped him down and held him upright.  Stan.  Yep, those were Stan's arms.  They were nice arms, Kyle decided, and promptly fell into them, starting to seize.  

"Fuck!" 

_Kyle was drowning, falling deeper with alarming speed. As his body was swallowed in the depths, he left it behind, rising up through the water- high enough to see that this wasn't the ocean.  It was a massive blue eye._

_..._

When the seizing stopped, Kyle had a sweet flavor on his tongue and the lip of a goblet in his mouth, pouring bitter ale down his throat.  He swallowed and broke off, slurring a plea for food, but there was already something in his mouth...

Sugar cube?  Or was it a health potion?  He swallowed it and immediately felt better.

"You've been human for like a day and you've contracted diabetes..." Wendy was saying in disbelief.

"I always thought diabetes was a power," Bebe said, tone stale.  "The men say Scott Malkinson is powerful, so what the fuck was that?"

They had found a booth in the back, out of the way and secluded, and Kyle was propped up on the cushion, too dizzy to stop Marshwalker from hand-feeding him tiny pieces of bread.  He wanted to tell them he'd been diabetic all his life, that he wasn't a pussy about it like Malkinson.  Usually, he could even avoid taking insulin every day.  But, if he mentioned a childhood of health scares, it would lead to deeper questions about his origin.  So he said nothing.

The girls had wrapped a purple cloak over his robes to hide the characteristic red pattern and pulled the hood up over his hair.  Unfortunately, the server that approached their table was too familiar with his face and recognized him right away.  

"M-m-my Lord!" 

Kyle's mouth fell open and Wendy jolted.  "Jimmy!" they said in unison.  

The Bard gave a toothy smile.  "It's w-wonderful to see you," he said.  Like the others, he was distinctly recognizable from the person Kyle had known as a child, but he was missing a few teeth and his face was grimy and scarred.  "Your food is on the way, but in the meantime, w-would you like the services of a Bard?  Or...it is open floor night, p-p-perhaps you have some tunes of your own?"

Bebe gave a full-lipped grin, narrowing her eyes on Marshwalker, "I've heard you're quite the singer, Stan- maybe _you've_ got one for Wendy."

The Ranger immediately started shaking his head, but the elven Bard latched onto the idea, "Of course he's a singer!  I t...t-t-trained him myself!"  He threw an arm over Stan's shoulders, and Stan seemed to shrink in discomfort.  They bantered back and forth, Jimmy insisting he show off his talents and Stan brushing off the encouragement.  He didn't intend on leaving Kyle's side and he was still owed some answers about his betrothal, but there was nothing else he could do for Kyle's health and Wendy couldn't explain anything with Jimmy hanging on him.  He showed no signs of getting off until Stan gave a performance.

Kyle was still nibbling on his bread, but he stopped.  "Could you sing?  I think I'd like to hear..." 

Marshwalker looked to him, frowning like he was rejecting his desire to answer.  He looked to Wendy, hoping to be forbidden from performing.  If he got up on stage, he'd be recognized immediately. The human Ranger of the elves was something of a celebrity after the battle for the Stick of Truth.  He was a Ranger of the King's guard, a general of his army, and one of the most accomplished fighters of the realm.  This tavern was full of scumbags he'd defeated himself.  

But, Wendy just smiled and touched his hand supportively.  "Sing the one about the Dragonborn." 

Jimmy practically dragged Stan to the stage, but the Ranger didn't resist.  Without his armor and cloaks, Marshwalker looked smaller, and when he picked up an old-fashioned guitar, he looked comfortable with it under his arm.  Kyle got the feeling this was a distraction he didn't actually mind.  

The Bard set the rest of the stage himself, gathering instruments and players and giving them instructions.  He tapped his foot, counted off, and began the song, strumming an impressively complicated rift on a four-stringed lute.  Stan started on a more reserved accompaniment, and a fiddle joined in after a few bars. The song held a lilting quality that made Kyle expect a medieval ballad with deep chanting and foreign words he wouldn't understand.  But suddenly, Stan struck his strings and took the beat, turning the song into the sort of swinging jig that had Kyle's foot tapping under the table.  The rest of the band picked up with him, and when Stan sang, his voice was sweet and invigorating.  His lyrics wove a story of a local hero, singing songs of freedom, fighting dragons, and changing lives.

The crowd reacted predictably, rising to the spectacle when they realized just who had taken the stage.  Some shouted jeers, but others had started dancing.  A few sang along.

Stan started out rigid in the spotlight.  He gave Kyle a lot of uncharacteristically shy glances through the crowd, gaining confidence as the song rolled on and the Bard helped him carry the tune.  When he met Kyle's eyes and found the redhead smiling at him, he returned it slowly, his grin growing in luminosity until he was up on the stage, stomping his foot to the beat and dancing along.  When Stan beamed at Kyle under the stage lights with that old familiarity, it was easy to forget that he wasn't the guy this man was in love with.  

By the time the song ended on a trembling note, Stan was pulled off the stage and into the crowd.  He got some claps on the back from seedy strangers- a few death threats that had his expression souring, but he shrugged the scumbags off.  It took a long time for the Tavern's crowd to leave him alone, but he handled the attention with grace and waited until he could conspicuously make his way back to the table.  He slumped into the booth, nodding humbly to Wendy and Bebe's praise.  He gave Kyle a sidelong glance and the human smiled, reaching under the table to touch his arm reassuringly.  

It had been Kyle's health scare that had shocked the girls out of their kinky bondage trip and convinced them to untie their prisoners, but Kyle still got the feeling that Marshwalker had been more frightened by it than grateful for the freedom it provided.  Kyle was feeling a lot better now- whether that had to do with the bread or some magic potion.  He wanted Stan to move on from that feeling of helplessness.  "That was really good," he said emphatically.  "Jimmy taught you to play like that?"

All Kyle's words seemed to do was remind the Ranger that this wasn't the King he knew and loved, and he looked down to the table.  "Yeah," he said.  "I can't be a fighter forever, so I've been trying to pick up some skills on the side."

"Well, I think you've got performing down for sure," Bebe said.

"Yes, you'll have to perform for the girls sometime," Wendy agreed.  

Stan seemed to deflate a little further.  

Kyle glanced at him and took a breath, holding his wrist and turning to Wendy, "You never let me ask- how did you even obtain your army?"

Oblivious to Stan's returning aura of gloom, Wendy shrugged and propped her chin in her hand, "Since the Grand Wizard has gone to madness, his people have started rebelling against him.  They're open to being influenced to new leaders."

"...You're looking to take over Kupa Keep?"

Wendy shrugged, "I was considering rebuilding the capital in Marshfell, but I'll start wherever it's easiest to establish a following.  There are already those who have taken to the idea of having Stan as their leader."

 _"...Marshfell?"_  Stan whispered like he'd never heard the word before.

Kyle's hand over his wrist tightened and a protective surge swelled in his chest.  "This has been nice and all- with the singing, Wendy, I'm grateful for your hospitality.  But, we've put him through a lot of distractions- we're not making any progress while we're here, so maybe it's time.  To tell him the truth.  Right?"

"...Alright," her eyes flicked to Kyle sharply.  "Go on then.  Tell him."

His jaw set and he froze.  Kyle knew the storyline he'd made up with Stan when they were children.  They'd sprawled out on Stan's blue comforter with an iPad, looking up pictures of World of Warcraft characters and coming up with corny plot devices.  It had been fun and games, building a tragic hero from their own epic friendship and the existing storyline, and making sure to criminalize Cartman in the process.  Now, it just sucked to think about- and Kyle wasn't sure how much of their story actually transcribed onto this world.  If he got facts wrong, he'd be misinforming the Ranger and blowing his own cover...

"You tell it."  Kyle wasn't sure where his haughty command-voice came from, but he went on logically, dropping into character, "I'm unsure what you wish to keep secret- or who might overhear in a place like this.  I wouldn't want to earn you any new enemies.  So, just assume I've told him nothing."

She stared for a long moment, fingers curling over the table and pursing her lips.  "...Fine."  She looked at Stan, "How much history do you know?"

"I...had a tutor," Stan said, glancing at Kyle like he was in disbelief that he'd pulled off the command.

"So, you know who ruled the humans before the Grand Wizard?"

"...The Dragonborn..."

"Well, yes, the Dragonborn ruled _all_ creatures of Zaron- but after them."

"...the...wizard...?"

"Before him."

"The...fat...wizard?"

Wendy sighed, rubbed her temples, took a drink, and started at the beginning. "A long time ago, after the dragons had disappeared from Zaron and the Dragonborn had left, humans and elves lived together in the forests of Hollow Falls.  They squabbled for many years, but eventually settled boundaries and coexisted against orcs, goblins, trolls and other creatures of darkness that sprung from the mountains.  You know the story of Dandar- how his village was burned down and the Stick of Truth was taken.  But, you may not know that the relic was forged to _protect_ the existence of magic. On one side, the powers of good- elves, mages, druids, nymphs were all more powerful, but the forces of the darkness had larger numbers.  The Wizard you know, Eric Cartman, working under the guise of a ' _concerned practitioner of magic'_  struck a deal with the Elven King of the age to forge a relic that would _balance_ these opposing powers- by overruling them both.  The Elven King accepted under the condition that the Stick would never be used against his people.

"You know the Wizard fatass.  Many egregious betrayals ensued.  First the orcs.  The Wizard commissioned them to forge the Stick, and in return, they had been promised sanctuary, but Cartman attacked the Elven Kingdom of Mikveh and tricked the elves to believe that orcs had done it.  Elves and humans destroyed the orcs together until none remained but the half-blooded Princess.  The other kingdoms of darkness followed- trolls, cyclopses, goblins- the Grand Wizard led forces to destroy them one by one, using the power of the Stick.  He quickly gained support from the villages of men who had long since been harassed by these creatures.  The Wizard became a hero to humanity.  

"But, immortal creatures of magic understand that there must be balance- the destructive forces of darkness are necessary to the flow of magic, and without healthy deaths to contribute to the spirit world, no new magic was produced.  The population of men grew unchecked, and Elves grew to understand men as greedy- they squandered the gift of mortality and the rest of the world suffered for their selfishness.  Elves retreated into the forests, disgusted with the scourge and growing cynical with the stagnancy of magic.  All races of the realm placed limitations on who was permitted to use it an attempt to slow the depletion.  Of course, this led to growing classism in every Kingdom.

"And, as the rift between humans and elves grew, the Grand Wizard gained support.  In a short time, he overthrew the bloodline that had ruled in the capital of the Seven Kingdoms- an ancient family that had morally guided humanity for hundreds of years, placed in control by the Dragonborn themselves."  Wendy gave Stan a meaningful look, but he was too absorbed in the story to notice the attention.  "Do you know the name of that family, Stan?" she prodded.  

Stan jolted and shook his head.  

"Marshwalker," Bebe said blandly.  "It's Marshwalker."

Stan blanked and Kyle winced, but Wendy picked up the slack.  "Yes. Your forefathers maintained a province in the Wizard's realm, _Marshfell,_ but generations of loafing idiots, perverts, and bastard children sullied your family name, so not many remember the glory it once held.  It's true.  You alone remain a clean heir to the throne of your ancestors.  The Throne of Men."

The Ranger's brain was obviously grinding gears, stuck on his confusion.  

"That's why you want to marry him..." Kyle prompted.  

Wendy nodded, keeping her focus on Stan.  "Yes.  I have a following of my own among the girls.  Now, I've gained numbers in those that have fled the Wizard King's madness.  But, I have no claim to the throne of humanity- I forsaked it in my vows to the  _Sunshine_  goddess.  Stan, I need your namesake to make my rule legitimate...at the same time, I would make you a King."  She drifted off and worried her lip between her teeth, looking a little guilty for the first time since she'd shown up.  "I didn't think you would mind it- since we made such fast friends when you were a child."

Kyle wasn't sure Stan was breathing.  He seemed to be frozen.  His eyes hadn't moved from the table, but they were wide- cartoonish in their horror.  When he spoke, his voice was breathy, and he looked to Kyle.  "Was...that all he wanted?"

Kyle's mouth fell open, but Wendy saved him again, "The Marshwalkers were allies of _all_ the Elven Kings after the Dragonborn disappeared," she explained.  "They always followed restrictions on magic consumption and protected elven villages, but your family sort of...disappeared, after the Wizard took over.  Marshfellwas a small province after Cartman rebuilt the capital over it."

"Then, why has he never even heard of Marshfell?" Kyle said, worried when it came out sounding like a question.  

But, Wendy didn't seem to notice.  "Because it was destroyed.  Cartman burned it down when you were a baby."  She was still talking to Stan who hadn't moved a muscle.  "Marshfell always refused to join the war on the Elves.  And, Cartman had tolerated their neutrality, but when he demanded a quota of young soldiers, Lord Randal made a drunken scene in the throne room.  The insult ran deep, and your mother, Lady Sharon, offered your sister up to be the Wizard King's bride in recompense, but Cartman didn't want her.  He was insulted by the bribe, so he turned your sister into an ogre.  She fled home to Marshfell and started destroying the village.  Your father's people had always been loyal, but they blamed your parents for losing the Wizard's favor and bringing the she-ogre upon them-"

Kyle knew the story from here- well enough to cut in and play a character, "So, I made a deal with your father to protect you from the Wizard and your people.  I'd raise you in the woods, and in return, you were mine to do with whatever I pleased.  I...wanted you to rule the humans as your forefathers had done so before."   _God, what kind of fucked-up elf was this other Kyle?_

Stan eyes narrowed as they spoke. He had nothing to say.

"Y-y-your food, m'L-Lord!" 

A heavy plate fell suddenly on the table in front of Stan and he didn't even flinch- too zoned to notice it.  Jimmy pushed the plate to Kyle- and pushed his way into the booth beside Bebe.  She gave him an incredulous look.  He spoke obliviously as Kyle immediately dug into his food.  "I meant to a-ask.  How goes the search for the S...St-Stick?"

Marshwalker's face was already pale, but at the mention of the recent epic-failure-of-a-mission, his hands clenched over the table.  His shock translated quickly to anger.  "How do you know of that?!"

"I may be a Fool, but I'm not an i-idiot, Stan."  Jimmy leaned back in the booth and shrugged.  "When the Necromancer summoned the Walkers, it was the o-obvious m-m...m-move.  Larnion may be gone, but our b-b-b-battle isn't over y-yet."

" _Our_ battle?" Stan said, eyes narrowing in betrayal.  "You weren't even there when Larnion was burning!  ...Where _were_ you?"

Jimmy frowned and was quiet for a long moment.  He gave the 'King' a meaningful glance and traced his finger over the surface of the oak table guiltily.  Curious, Kyle stopped eating and repeated Stan's question.  If the 'King' wanted him to say it, Jimmy had permission to speak (and Kyle really wanted to know what his other self had ordered him to do that was so fucking bad).  The Bard took a breath.  "I was setting it aflame," he said quietly.  

When Stan didn't respond, Kyle glanced over, mouth hanging open.  

The Bard explained himself, "The walkers can't be k-killed except by fire.  So, we evacuated the k-k-kingdom fast.  Once the densely p-p-populated areas were cleared, we started an enchanted fire on the castle w-w-where our Lord, had corralled the Walkers..."  Jimmy plucked at the strings of his fiddle and frowned.  "K-Kyle left to help you in the res-rescue effort.  But, I couldn't leave the d-dying ones.  I played for them- in the end...to ease the s-s-s-s...s-s-s...suffering."

The silence that followed Jimmy's story felt thick and dragged-out with the time it had taken him to finish speaking.  Jimmy always stuttered more when he was got emotional.

Kyle was really starting to  _hate_ his other self...  

Stan broke the haze by slamming up from the table.  The plates and glasses rattled dangerously.  

"Where are you going?" Wendy said quickly.  

"To the room," Stan said, back turned and voice stiff, barely audible over the voices of the tavern.

"To _your_ room?" Wendy clarified.  "The one I rented for you boys?"

"...Yes."

Her brows raised slowly, "You'll still be there in the morning..." she said.  "If you feel any loyalty to your King- because you have your orders."  She reached in her cloak and drew the rolled-up marriage contract just high enough out of her pocket that Kyle could see it.  "Doesn't he, your Grace?"  She gave the 'King' a warning look, daring him to break his word.  

Kyle frowned.  "Go ahead to bed, Stan," he said firmly, refusing to feel guilt on behalf of the fucked-up things his other self had done.  He was sick of shit coming back to bite  _him_ in the ass when there was some douchy version of himself whose ass  _deserved_ to be bit.

The Ranger immediately took the invitation to abscond the fuck away, too pissed to be in the presence of these people- and Kyle didn't blame him. This had become so fucked-up so quickly, his head was spinning and it had nothing to do with his blood sugar.

"So...how _d-does_ the search for the Stick g-g-go?" Jimmy said, voice small.

Kyle looked at the half-eaten meal on his plate.  He picked up the fork.  "I couldn't retrieve it.  I couldn't even use it."

"I see."

Kyle wasn't sure if he should've told the Bard anything at all.  "Just don't tell people that we had planned to use it," he warned.  "We don't need word getting around- and a deranged Wizard hunting us down for breaking an oath."  Kyle said this, but honestly, the first thing he  _wanted_ was the Wizard's help...

"N-naturally," Jimmy agreed.  "You know the rule of the G-G-G...Giggling Donkey.  What happens in V-Valmer's, stays in Valmer's-"

"I thought it was  _leave your business at the door_..." Bebe said.

"T-that too!" Jimmy pushed up from the booth and leaned onto a wooden crutch, "But the point I'm m-making, ladies and gentleman, is you have my support- as always."  He grinned and there was something strongly reassuring in it.  Kyle felt himself relaxing as if by magic.  

So, he finished his first real meal in this fucked-up world.  Salty meat and potatoes.  It wasn't a bad lunch.

...

 

The girls had rented two rooms for a night- probably so they could get in one last fuck before Wendy was betrothed.  Kyle spent his day hanging out with Jimmy, learning as much as he could about the layout of the land.  

Larnion had been the only official kingdom of elves before it had burned down- reconstruction efforts were rumored to be underway, under Donnelly's orders.  The survivors that had evacuated were spread out in allied taverns, City Wok, the Tower of Peace, Ike's Coves, lands of barbarians, and any neutral grounds they could find.  

There were Seven Kingdoms of humans, all under the jurisdiction of the Capital, Kupa Keep- which encompassed the provinces of Stotchburg, Dovakingdom, and the former Marshfell.  Blackwood was the northernmost kingdom, a rich city of slavers including the province of Dark Meadows.  Tweekton was the furthest east, a bustling land of fast innovation- with a dark underground and thriving drug chain.  The East Dwellings and West Dwellings were two separate kingdoms- both rather nondescript from what Kyle could tell.  He couldn't pick up much about them but the fact that Stoletry was part of the West Dwellings and the East Dwellings had a famous 'Lords' club- which sounded pretty gay.  The Middle-Kingdom was a land of burnouts where the former provinces of Tuckerton and Donavanham had been overrun by the Dark Overlord's Fortress.  And last: the Kingdom of Kawaii- Princess Kenny's Palace.  

Kyle would've done just about anything for a legitimate map.  As it was, he was forming one in mind, using the names of places and what they were famous for.  The Giggling Donkey was east of the Dark Overlord's fortress- which was east of Stoletry.  Jimmy's house was east of Clyde's which was east of Kevin's.  

Easy.

After fearing for his life with his fucking diabetes, Kyle was finally starting to think he could do this.  

He could survive this world.

Dinnertime passed and Kyle ate another meal on the house.  The girls rejoined Kyle and the Bard for some dinner conversation, talking genially until Kyle declared that he was ready to retire for the rest that Wendy had so _graciously_ provided.  He managed to get away from the girls after a healthy dose of threats and blackmail, sneak his way through the crowd without being recognized as some douchebag he actually  _wasn't_ , and find the door that had the number inscribed on his key.  

Kyle had expected small, dingy accommodations.  He wasn't wrong on that account.  The room was just larger than a crawlspace with one twin-sized bed, probably stuffed with straw and shit.  That was all predictable- it fit the medieval theme.  Kyle hadn't expected the Ranger to be buckass nude, submerged in a pewter bath with water and hot stones.  His eyes were closed and thick arms were braced on the sides of the metal tub, holding him up in a relaxed position.  For a second, Kyle thought he was asleep and he stepped closer, but Stan opened one eye just a crack to throw him a glare.

Any unconscious desire Kyle had of getting a better look at Stan's scars and unfamiliar physique slinked away with its tail between its legs. He averted his eyes and set his key on a bedside table, pulling off his cloak and the King's red robes. They shuffed to the floor and he stepped out, folding them reverently in case the Ranger was still watching.  The fact that Marshwalker hadn't run for the stables to ditch this fukery spoke loads about his loyalty to the king.  Which, at this point, was reaching critical mass of stupidity.

Kyle wanted to think that, if he had ever been with Stan romantically, he would've been good to him.  So, it was horrible- but unsurprising, to see it play out like this.  

What was he supposed to think?  Had he and Stan been doomed from the start?  Was he cursed to be a dick to the guy he loved the most?

Because this was twice now.

Stan had become an asshole senior year, scaring Kyle with emotional outbursts, avoiding all attempts to help him, shoving people away.  He was the poster-child of angsty, hormonally-imbalanced teenagers. But Kyle...had single-handedly ruined over sixteen years of best-friendship by getting caught up in his own feelings.  Stan had trusted him not to make things weird, and Kyle had been trying so hard to be more considerate after his best friend's suicide attempt.  But, he'd failed.  

The thing was, falling for Stan had felt like a revelation.  This huge, terrifying thing that Kyle had been working so hard to understand finally made sense in a fundamental way, like figuring out an equation that had seemed so complicated.  After everything, it all came down to simple math. 

His best friend. What a relief.

In high school, dating had been a social requirement.  If you weren't in love with someone, you were a heartless bastard, and if you weren't having sex, it was because no one would fuck you.  Everyone was  _expected_  to want a sexual, romantic relationship- no deviation allowed. So, Kyle had dated. True to his morality, he made his relationships with people he liked; easy to talk to and fun to hang out with.  The problem was, after awhile, they all started expecting him to have sex with them.  So, he did.  But, at best, was a pleasurable chore- like mowing the lawn or painting a room. At the worst, it was gross- which didn't seem right.  With words like _asexual_ and _lithsexual_ and _autochorissexual_ drifting around the internet, it scared him out of his fucking mind. Having no sexual desire in a world so obsessed with grinding nasties would be like not having tastebuds or being colorblind.  It wasn't _fair_.  The whole world would be enjoying something that he'd never truly understand.  

So, Kyle sucked it up.  If his girlfriend started pushing for sex, he'd give merciless head until she was too exhausted to reciprocate.  Most girls were happy to lie back and receive, and Kyle only ever dated two guys- both to fuck with Cartman.  He had to break up with the first to avoid sex.  The second- Kyle had accepted a bet that he couldn't get into the buff exchange student's pants. He won the bet. He wasn't proud of it.

Sex aside, the quest to find the meaning of love sucked ass.  Between Cartman's schemes and Kyle's nonexistent sex drive, his girlfriends either got bored with him or died in horrific accidents.  But, life went on.  Stan gave him extra attention after break ups, and after spending a week or two wrapped around someone else, Stan's fart jokes and profanity were like oxygen.  There was nowhere Kyle felt more comfortable- more  _himself_ \- than with his best friend in a 'hello headlock', sprawled out on the floor tossing a ball and talking, or with Stan's restless shuffling in bed as they did what could only be described as 'bro-cuddling'.  Sometimes, Kyle thought it could be perfect.  If he could give up on romantic relationships and just have Stan like that forever- easy and intimate. Untarnished with sexual expectations.

It was Satan who suggested he should fuck Stan.

He wasn't coy about it either. What had started as a videogame marathon at Kyle's house had quickly turned into a satanic ritual when Stan showed up, grabbed Kyle's pants, and tried to get at his dick like he was dying of thirst.  He was out of his head- an incubus had cursed him with insatiable lust that would drain him until someone fucked his brains out. So, Kyle and Cartman tied him to a chair and summoned the devil to exorcise the demon. Satan had taken one look at Stan, shrugged, and told Kyle to get on with it. Kyle couldn't fuck his best friend on some demonic lust craze. It wasn't _right_. In the end, Wendy had come- the only person who had already had fucked Stan before and didn't mind doing it to save his life.

...In Kyle's room...on Kyle's bed...moaning obnoxiously.

Even with ear plugs, Kyle had known it was happening. He knew it had happened before. It was still impossible to think about. Kyle still remembered being in diapers with Stan, helping each other over the child gate to the stairs, and Stan's blue baby blanket. Stan and sex just couldn't fit together- it was like wanting to fuck Mr. Rogers or a Telly Tubby. Kyle had never even let thoughts like that pervert his mind. Sure, he was closer to Stan than any _normal_ best friends- they'd made-out twice, jerked-off in one another's bathrooms, Stan had fucked a girl in Kyle's bed. They were still strictly platonic, and Kyle wouldn't have it any other way.

It was something Token had said that changed all that.   _A_ _s long as you two have each other, no one’ll ever be able to get close to either of you._

Kyle hadn't understood what Token meant at first, but he'd had three months in Jurassic Park to figure it out. Between running from prehistoric reptiles in an alternate dimension and trying to find a way back to earth, Kyle reflected on the state of his love life.  Nine girlfriends and two boyfriends and the standing record was six weeks together.  He worked his way into every relationship with the thought  _this one for sure_ , but he never felt like he was being honest with himself- or his dates. And, it wasn't just about his lack of sexual attraction. These people didn't really know him- and he didn't really want them to.

But Stan...he wanted Stan to probe his fucking soul.  After dozens of fights about Stan's drinking, cutting, running away from home, shoving his sexuality in the closet, Kyle felt like he'd ripped himself raw a million times. There was nothing scary about telling Stan how much he cared- because he knew he meant it.  It was scarier to think that he'd never truly _convince_ him.  After all their years together, Kyle trusted Stan to follow him anywhere- and he needed him to. As long as he had someone like that, why would he need a girlfriend?

That's what Token had been saying- his relationships were shit because Stan was already filling the role of his partner- there wasn't room for anyone else.  So, he could either give up on finding a meaningful romantic relationship or he could lose Stan.

How that was even a fucking question- Kyle didn't know.

It was an easy switch, letting the Stan in his mind's eye age-up from a childhood friend to a sexy young man. It was so fucking easy to call him that- _sexy._

After Token's revelation, Kyle let his mind wander to Stan often. It was like he'd been patiently standing there, all grown-up and waiting to _fucking finally_ get noticed, voice deep and shoulders broad, he stripped away clothes without childish shyness.  But, instead of joining an imaginary partner like Kyle's usual jerk-off fodder, Stan wasn't there to put on a show with someone else.  Kyle wanted his hands personally- how they might feel if friendly touches were less casual, more sensual- over his neck and down his chest as Stan leaned to kiss him.  Kyle couldn't remember the times they'd kissed, but he imagined Stan would kiss slow and meaningful with lingering pulls and the scrape of teeth- some kind of toe-curling magic that would have him tugging on hair and writhing passionately for more. Stan would be expressive in every touch, like he was trying to push love into Kyle's skin. And Kyle purred with it. For the first time in his life he _wanted_. Bone-deep. He wanted Stan to take him apart until he was raw and needy and couldn't recall his own name.  His hands acted on imagination, stroking and caressing, and when he came, his flesh felt like a real, living thing.

All the pressure of trying to be in love seemed to fall away.

When Kyle got home from the dinosaur world, he'd felt different.  Not just because he was equipped with a brand new boner for his best friend.  The world felt like it had flipped while he was gone.  He'd thought falling in love with Stan would make things easy.

But it was infinitely worse. Stan's problems had gotten _better_ with Kyle gone. And he was openly dating Craig.  Fucking Craig.  Worse- Kyle could  _see_ Stan fucking Craig.  His bedroom window was distantly visible from Ike's room, and watching his best friend's silhouette behind thin curtains, fumbling around with another guy in a surreal, passionate dance, made Kyle's blood boil in a way where he actually understood the metaphor- like he literally was going to seethe away into steam.  Each time he'd see Stan with hickies or bruises, he'd stop breathing and just fucking stare.

It became unavoidable.  Kyle wasn't going to be capable of waiting for an appropriate time to voice his feelings.  After all their fights and frustrations with each other, Kyle should've known to wait it out and stay distant with Stan until they could come back together on common ground.  But, if he didn't get it out- for better or worse- he was going to snap.  To this day, Kyle wasn't sure how far he would've gone...

"You said you weren't capable of acting."

Kyle startled.

The Ranger had broken the silence, sounding a little bitter.  

For a second, Kyle doubted that it had happened.  Marshwalker hadn't moved at all.  But, Kyle chanced an answer, "...I didn't expect to be forced to."

Stan's eyes opened slowly, but he didn't meet Kyle's gaze.  He was probably bitter that Kyle had rejected his plan- to bring him to Larnion to be a seat-warmer for the King.  But, "I'm not a puppet..." he said quietly.

"...I...know that."

"No," Stan looked at him sharp, "I mean, I never was- and _he_ knew that."

"I never said he-"

"Sure, you never said, but it's what you think."

Kyle's brows drew together.  "No, I don't..."

"Then it's what you believe  _I_ should think," Stan concluded- which Kyle couldn't deny in full confidence.  The Ranger slipped his arms off the sides of the tub, bringing them in to his lap- a subconscious move to make himself appear smaller.  "Is that what I would think...in your world?"

Kyle winced.  He'd given up on claiming that he knew the way Stan thought _years_ ago.  He'd accepted that he'd probably never had a clue, but it felt like Marshwalker expected him to know. "I- yeah...probably?"

The Ranger closed his eyes and was silent.  Then he stood up, water dripping rivulets over full-grown planes of skin and body hair that Kyle had never seen outside his imagination.  Kyle immediately flushed and turned away, a little terrified of what he had already seen and how hot he felt so fast.  He heard Stan chuff through his nose and step out of the tub.  After a moment of shuffling, "Your modesty's safe," he said, towel wrapped securely around his waist.

Kyle scoffed and turned around, fired-up to argue about his  _modesty_ (which didn't fucking exist), but Stan wasn't smirking- so Kyle lost heat fast- though the blood that had rushed south and plumped his dick didn't get the memo.

Stan Marsh probably wouldn't have noticed, but Marshwalker saw the flush on Kyle's face and his eyes fell to his shorts.  His expression shifted, and before Kyle could even think to be terrified or embarrassed, the man stepped closer so that the steam from his bath seeped into Kyle's skin.  He took both Kyle's hands, placing them over the fabric he'd wrapped over his waist.  "-That is...if you _want_ it to be..."

Kyle jolted back, stumbling and catching himself on the bed.  "Dude!"

Stan raised a brow.

"What the fuck was that?!"

The Ranger's impatient look deepened to agitation.  Like,  _you know damn well_.

"Y-you can't just- Why would you-?"  Talking to Jimmy all day might've affected Kyle.  Only- Jimmy could form fully thought-out phrases.  Whatever the hell Kyle was trying to say, he was failing.  It didn't help that Stan was closing in again, slowly unwrapping the 'modesty-cloth' from his waist.  "But, you don't- You know I'm not-"  

Stan let out a hushing breath, holding Kyle's gaze as the towel dropped to the floor.  

Kyle winced, "...dude."

"You've shown you're capable of pretending..." Marshwaker whispered, brushing his fingertips over one of Kyle's thighs, raising all the hairs on his body.  "So- would you do that?  Pretend?  Would you _like_ it?   _I'd_ like it."  He brought a knee up to straddle Kyle's waist and ducked down to put his lips on his neck.  He knew exactly the spot to lick to send jolts of pleasure down Kyle's spine. "I'd like you to like it..."

It wasn't frantic, but Stan's advances were falling short of sexy and leaning towards desperate.  "Stan, I know you don't want tooo...ooh  _fuck_."  It was embarrassing how easily a firm hand on his crotch had Kyle's words rolling off into a heaving breath.  Marshwalker smirked and traced his teeth over the meat of Kyle's shoulder, biting down until his gasp cut into a grunt.  Kyle bared his neck away, glaring.  "It's not gonna feel good when you-"

"-You're wonderfully sensitive in all the best places so, yeah- I'm thinking it will..." 

"Stan," Kyle said firmly.  "I'm not teasing with you."  The Ranger's mouth moved away from his jaw and he pulled back, lips parted in mild confusion.  When Stan's hand didn't move immediately off his dick, Kyle grabbed his wrist and moved it.  "Stop." 

The slack-jawed look remained for several heavy moments- then slowly, Stan's hand pulled free of Kyle's and he deflated over him, dropping to the bed between Kyle's legs and burying his face in the crease of his neck.  He pressed his chest against the taller man's and wrapped his legs around him, _"Please,_ _"_ he groaned, voice cracking like he was fighting not to cry.  "This is the last night that I can have you- I need _something,_ I need-"

Kyle grabbed Stan tight and squeezed him until he shut up.  Stan was moaning like he was desperate for sex, but he'd stopped pawing for it and his pleas were half-hearted.  It seemed more like the whole thing had been an attempt to avoid crying.  Kyle honestly hated the fact that he'd been able to get turned-on so quickly.  He wished his boner had never been there to confuse him.  "Stan..." he said, gently scratching his nails over the warrior's back, "If you want to go and ditch that stupid contract, I'll come with-"

"No."

"...O-kay?  But, it's not what you _want,_ is it?  You don't want to marry Wendy for a throne."

"I have to," Stan grunted, clenching his fists over his back.  "If Kyle'd changed his mind, he would've changed the deal- it's...'s what he wanted."

Kyle squeezed the Ranger again firmly.  "Well, okay- but like...fuck him.  He's an asshole."

Stan jerked away, ducked, and head-butted Kyle's chest hard enough to wind him.

Kyle wheezed, and caught his breath, " _Fuck,_ dude- I've taken enough shit today- just listen!  You don't have to agree!"

Stan's lip curled back in a snarl.

Kyle narrowed his eyes, unimpressed. "Your King's been using you, Stan- since the day you met.  He had the opportunity to take you in as a child, give you a comfortable life, and he left you to the forest- not just because your father demanded it, but because he wanted you to grow up tough.  That's fucked up.  When he brought you to Larnion, you were on your death bed, and the second he knew you'd live, he rode to Wendy to sell your marriage- you were only ever supposed to be his puppet.  Now, look at all the things he's had you do- fight his wars, kill his enemies.  He let you run off on a quest and slay your own sister, didn't he?  Did you know the ogre was your sister?"

Kyle was making petty jabs and Marshwalker looked _furious,_ "She'd become a monster!  It was my choice to hunt her, Kyle had no part-"

"It doesn't matter, Stan!  I'm saying you shouldn't trust me- him!  The other me!" _fuck_.  "Your love affair- what can you really have with him?  He's gone and even if he wasn't, you'd still be his dirty secret!  All he ever wanted was to make a tool of you, so whatever you had with him wasn't part of his plan-"

"Maybe he didn't plan on it- but it still happened!" Stan cut him off, "It happened- he loves me, and that's real!  Realer than anything you'll ever understand."  Kyle realized that maybe that insult would cut him later.  Maybe it would strike a nerve and he'd remember it whenever he'd want to remind himself why he was pissed-off all the time, but right now, he didn't think about it.  Because Stan said, "He's everything I have!" 

And seriously,  _what the fuck?_

"No!  ...He's not, Stan- hey!"  

The Ranger had started pulling against their embrace, but Kyle had the advantage of a better position over Stan's strength.  He held him tight.

It suddenly felt like the most important thing Kyle could do here was to make sure Stan Marshwalker didn't love his other self blindly.  He couldn't bare to think of any version of Stan being in love with any version of himself for the wrong reason.  "You've got talents and friends and accomplishments," he said, "and maybe you love him, but he's not the only one that loves you...that's important!"  Stan stopped his petulant tugging, but he was still snarling like he might bite.  Kyle was ready to sock him in the face if he did.  "Whatever shit he's done, he'll have to deal with the consequences.  You can support him through it, but- don't let his problems ruin your life."  Stan went still, eyes wet.  "You'll only get one of those- and it's short, right?  So why don't you stop wasting it trying to move mountains for him?  If he's really good- he'll own up to his shit on his own if he has to, and he'll be grateful for anything you give."

Something in the last few words really moved Stan's face.  His mouth had fallen open and tears were starting to stream.

"Of course, if he's fucking something up, you've gotta show him."  Kyle bumped his forehead against the Ranger's, getting a good look at the scars he'd probably earned risking his life for his King.  "That's your job, right?"

Marshwalker sniveled and leaned in, letting his cheek brush Kyle's as he buried his face back into his shoulder and settled in for a long, arduous cry.  Fucked over in a lot of ways, he deserved some one-on-one hug-therapy.  Kyle figured the Ranger probably hadn't taken the time he needed to mourn the friends that died in Larnion's fire- or to the Walkers.  Who knew if Marshwalker  _ever_ let himself cry.  So, boner long-forgotten, Kyle let Stan weep like a child and he just crossed his legs around him, rubbing his back and his scalp soothingly.  He made up for times that he should've done this for Stan Marsh, but he'd been too caught up in his own fucking pride.

After awhile, the steam had stopped rising off the water in the bathtub and Stan's weight was growing heavy and drowsy.  The windows had gone dark- which meant so had the room, and Kyle knew they weren't running away from Wendy tonight, but...

"Stan?"

The Ranger grunted.

"Could you put on some pants? ...Please?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -The King couldn't heal Stan of the spider venom because he was grossed-out and couldn't consume food.  
> -Arcomantulas are the species of giant spiders in the Harry Potter series  
> -Boys can't talk to the girls unless they're blindfolded in the game, so they have to be prisoners in the real Zaron.  
> -The Final Battle in the Dark Overlord's Fortress occurred ten years ago in Zaron- around the same time as the kids' game. Marshwalker was about 20 and is still 20 now, ten years later.  
> -The song Stan sings in the Giggling Donkey is inspired by "A Local Man" by Patch and the Giant  
> -Before it was destroyed, Marshfell existed between Larnion and Kupa Keep  
> -Readers on the asexual spectrum- don't emulate Kyle's sexual practices. If you're not into sex, don't have sex!


End file.
